


When The Smoke Clears

by GoldFrostbite13



Series: Fate's Garden [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Harry Potter, Divergent Timelines, Drarry, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Gay Draco Malfoy, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, LGBT, LGBTQ, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Nightmares, Non-Canon Antagonist, Non-Canon Relationship, Not Canon Compliant, Original Character(s), Post-War, Slow Burn, Trauma, based off books and movies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:28:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 52
Words: 158,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22574035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldFrostbite13/pseuds/GoldFrostbite13
Summary: Harry just wants one normal year at Hogwarts. But when ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy asks for forgiveness and offers his friendship, Harry's life begins to change more than he ever imagined it would. Meanwhile, bitter enemies threaten to tear their fragile realities apart...WTSC is the first part of Fate's Garden, a romance and adventure Harry Potter fanfiction series.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley
Series: Fate's Garden [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624225
Comments: 238
Kudos: 492





	1. Mourning

_Flashes of colored light erupted around Harry and his friends like fireworks, but there was nothing to celebrate. The sounds of screaming, war, and bloodshed were all he could hear._

_The red-haired boy's face, even in battle, broke into a brief, gleeful smile. Of course; it was so like him to be optimistic even when the odds were against him. Because he knew that, whatever happened, he would always have his family. If they were alive or dead, he would continue to fight and live so their memories would be passed on._

_He laughed as his opponent collapsed from three simultaneous Stunning spells._

_"You actually are joking, Perce," He said to his brother. "I don't think I've heard you joke since you were -"_

_Then the world ripped into pieces in an instant, a blinding light enveloping the battling wizards. Quiet followed the wreckage as if the very air was mourning for what had just happened._

_For the boy lay on the ground. Utterly still._

_"No…no, no!" Someone wailed, "No! Fred! No!"_

"No," Harry muttered. If there was still time…he could grab his wand, reverse the destruction. There had to be a spell to cheat death. There had to be because Fred was gone and Tonks and Moody and-

A hand pulled him from the darkness of his nightmares. "Harry," Hermione whispered, "Are you alright?"

Harry blinked, Hermione's worried face swimming blurrily in front of him. Harry reached for his glasses and put them on, so her features came into focus.

"Nightmares again?" Hermione guessed before Harry could say anything. "Is your scar hurting, too? I thought it would stop since Voldemort is gone."

"It doesn't have anything to do with Voldemort," Harry said, sitting up. The warm colors of Ron's room lit up by the morning sun, put him at ease. "My scar hasn't been hurting. I just keep…reliving the battle in my sleep."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione frowned sympathetically. "C'mon, let's get some breakfast in you. We're all going to need our energy today."

"Right."

Hermione left the room, leaving Harry to get dressed. He opened his hurriedly packed trunk and pulled out a plain black robe. As Harry stared at the fabric, he felt tears beginning to well up in his eyes. Furiously blinking them away, he muttered, "This is the last."

After today, maybe everyone could finally forget the tragedy of the past and look hopefully towards the future. The past week had been filled with funerals, ranging from Colin Creevey to Professor Severus Snape. The latter had been particularly ill-attended, to Harry's disappointment. He had told everyone he could about Snape's sacrifice, but only a chosen few believed him, Ron and Hermione included.

The mood downstairs was somber but united. Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Arthur, Molly, and Percy sat at the table, eating breakfast. It was clear from the family's gloomy faces they weren't really in the mood for a meal, but hunger ensured they had an egg, at least. Harry was slightly uplifted to see everyone livelier than a week ago: Percy and his parents were murmuring to each other, Ginny was helping herself to sausage, and Hermione's and Ron's hands lay entwined on the table. Only George didn't eat, sitting in stony silence.

"Orange juice, Harry dear?" Mrs. Weasley offered, the jug floating towards Harry's cup.

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley," Harry replied, his chair scraping back as he sat down next to Ron. He looked towards George, wanting to say some words of comfort but having no idea what to say.

"How're you holding up, mate?" Harry said quietly to his best friend. Ron wasn't openly crying, but Harry could tell he had been earlier.

"As well as anyone else in this situation, I suppose," Ron said, his voice wobbling a bit. "Hermione's been a great help." The smiles they gave each other reminded Harry of how Fleur and Bill look at each other, and he couldn't help but grin.

"Oh, by the way, Harry," Hermione, blushing, changed the subject, "You got a letter."

"By owl?" Harry asked, and with a pang, he thought of Hedwig.

"Yes, it was delivered by an eagle owl, I believe." Hermione raised her eyebrows at Harry.

"Er…An eagle owl. Neat."

"Why is an eagle owl special?" Ron said.

Hermione glanced at the rest of the Weasley family and lowered her voice. "It's from Malfoy."

Harry's blood ran cold at the sound of his name, but a split second later he wondered if Draco was really an enemy any more.

"Malfoy?" Ron hissed, "As in Draco Malfoy? What would that scum want with Harry?"

"I don't know, I didn't open the letter! It's not mine, after all." Hermione chewed on her bottom lip. "I was thinking…suppose it's cursed?"

"Why would he curse the letter?" Harry asked.

Hermione looked as confused as she would have if he had asked the question in Parseltongue. "What- Harry, he's the enemy!"

"Still?"

"Well, probably." Hermione's expression changed to doubt, but it passed quickly. "Just because Voldemort is dead doesn't mean his supporters are!"

"Can't you two argue about this later?" Ron interjected wearily. "My brother is dead."

"I…" Guilt flitted like a shadow across Hermione's face. "Yes. Sorry, Ron."

"That's alright," Ron said and rubbed her comfortingly on the back. "Although, it is pretty weird that he contacted you, mate. Don't you think?"

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose."

In fact, he hadn't been thinking much of Malfoy throughout the week. At all the funerals, Harry hadn't seen his pale face among the sea of black robes, and he had almost forgotten he existed. He's the enemy. Harry could never forget that night on the tower when Draco pointed his wand threateningly at Dumbledore. He's the enemy. But the look of anguish on Draco's face that night was that of a child. Not a dark wizard. "

Shall we get a move on, then?" Arthur stood from his chair, and his family followed suit. George pushed in his chair slowly, a blank yet devastated look on his face.

Outside the sky shone silver with thin yet widespread clouds. The pale sunlight and the windswept hillside created a beautiful yet grave atmosphere. Seven black figures moved along the ridge of the hill, heading for a small pond where many chairs were set up. A few people had already arrived, including Hagrid, Headmistress McGonagall, Charlie, and Fleur.

"Harry, Hermione," Charlie greeted the pair when he finished hugging his family. "How are you holding up?"

"We're fine, thanks," Hermione sighed, "Though I'm more worried about Ron. And um, Ginny, Percy, and George too. Of course."

Charlie smirked, picking up on Hermione's favoritism. "Word on the Weasley street is that you're Ronnie's girlfriend," He said.

"Oh…Well, that's…" Hermione trailed off into red-faced silence.

"It's a good thing. Ron needs someone to keep him grounded."

"Charlie," Harry interjected, "Where's Bill?"

"Zer iz a full moon tonight, 'arry," Fleur overheard and glided up to them with sorrowful grace. "Bill wishes' e could make it, of course. But 'e is in too much pain right now."

"Right," Harry said sheepishly. Through all the funerals, he had forgotten entirely about Bill's condition.

The chairs began to fill with more and more redheads, as well as familiar faces from Hogwarts: Oliver Wood, Lee Jordan, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, and other Quidditch players were huddled while whispering to each other. Angelina held a swathe of red fabric that Harry could only guess were Quidditch robes, tears rolling off her cheeks in waves.

"Harry, my family's all sitting together," Ron informed his friend, "And there's only one open seat left-"

"You and Hermione go ahead," Harry said quickly. "I'll sit back here, don't worry about me."

"Thanks, mate." Ron shot him a grateful look as he and Hermione walked away, still hand-in-hand. Harry felt a twinge of loneliness as he gazed ahead and spotted Ginny, sitting between George and Percy. He wished he could give her his shoulder to cry on. But Ginny had been acting distant for the past week. Harry felt it would be best to give her some space.

Harry took a seat next to Hagrid, who was busy blowing into a handkerchief the size of a tablecloth.

"Oh…hello, Harry," Hagrid's voice shook behind his bushy beard. "Sad week, eh?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed as Hagrid blew into his handkerchief with a noise like a foghorn.

Feeling a little awkward, Harry looked to his left at the few rows of empty chairs. He wanted to imagine that Fred was sitting in one of them, that his spirit had not yet left.

The same, tiny, tufty-haired wizard that had presided over Dumbledore's funeral rose and took his place at the podium. Next to him, there was a plain wood casket covered in bunches of forget-me-nots. Harry stared at the coffin, wishing with all his heart that it was the last dead body he would be near in his life.

"Fred Weasley," The small wizard began, and everyone fell silent, "Was one of the brave fighters during the Battle of Hogwarts. His sacrifices…" Harry looked to his left again as the wizard continued. He had heard this speech before, with too many names in front of it.

The grass beneath the empty chair next to Harry moved.

Harry stared. The blades were definitely being pressed down as if feet were sinking into it. Harry looked up at where a person would be sitting, and he noticed that the air shimmered a little. Harry moved his hand slowly to his pocket, where his wand was ready.

He felt a warm breath against his ear. "Don't scream, Potter."

Despite the person's instructions, Harry felt his lungs expand with fear. He removed his wand from his pocket and gripped it tightly. The voice was as familiar as his own.

"Why are you here?" Harry whispered as quietly as he could.

"Paying my respects, obviously." Harry could picture Draco Malfoy's snide face even though he was invisible. But Harry heard a hint of something else, too. Regret.

"Fred Weasley doesn't need your respects," Harry replied hotly.

"No, I suppose he doesn't." Malfoy went silent for a moment. "There weren't half as many people at Crabbe's funeral as there is here."

Harry's blood went cold for a moment. Though he had little to no respect for Vincent Crabbe, the Slytherin was still a casualty. Brainwashed by Voldemort's followers – his own parents – into believing the wrong thing.

"Anyway," Malfoy continued coolly, "You should've known I would be here."

"How would I know?"

"Honestly, Potter," Malfoy sighed, "Don't you know how to read?"

Harry remembered the letter Hermione mentioned, and he felt himself flushing from embarrassment. "Oh. Um, yes. I got your letter. I didn't get to read it."

"Well, still read it when you get back."

"Can't you just tell me what's in it?"

"No. You know that I always say the wrong thing around you, Potter."

"The wrong thing?" Harry regarded the empty space with a raised eyebrow. "So, you didn't really mean to be a prat all those years?"

Malfoy huffed. "Never mind. I simply mean that I can convey my thoughts better with written words."

Behind the podium, the small wizard had left for George to say a eulogy for his twin. Harry straightened in his chair, determined to listen, but he was distracted by a chuckle from his left.

"What's so funny, Malfoy?" Harry was beginning to get irritated, and he had to work to keep his voice low.

"Oh, nothing. You just seem surprisingly comfortable. Especially considering that I'm technically a Death Eater and you're the man who killed the Dark Lord. I could have my wand pointed at you right now."

Fear tingled down Harry's spine until he realized who he was talking to. "You're not going to kill me, Malfoy," Harry scoffed.

The shimmering air moved uncomfortably. Malfoy's outline was beginning to be more and more apparent. "Oh? And how do you know that?"

Harry knew it just by instinct, but a few moments of memory-searching presented him with a solid reason. "Well, you didn't rat me out. In Malfoy Manor. You knew it was me."

Malfoy's figure was close to being translucent. Harry could almost see his features. "Did not. That Granger girl can produce one hell of a Stinging Jinx."

"How do you know Ron didn't do it?"

"Oh, please. Granger's spells are better than Weasley's by a long shot."

Harry felt himself grinning, and he desperately tried to squash it.

"Was that a compliment?"

"No. Granger's wandwork is still shoddy. She's just better than Weasley."

"Speaking of shoddy wandwork, you're nearly visible."

"Bloody hell!" Malfoy hissed, immediately raising his wand to the top of his head.

As Malfoy muttered under his breath to cast another Disillusionment Charm, Harry took the opportunity to finally pay attention to Fred's service.

"He was my second half," George was saying, holding back tears. "His optimism helped us run a joke shop business, even as the world was collapsing. Fred could always see the bright side, and I'm going to continue that legacy. Starting today."

Harry glanced to his left, and sure enough, Malfoy had disappeared again.

"Fred Weasley, you will be missed. By a whole lot of people. But you're not gone. Not while your memory lives on." George stepped out from behind the podium and sat down, wiping at his eyes.

Harry felt his eyes getting misty as well, and he took off his glasses to dry them.

"Now, if you would all please join us for the burial ceremony," The small wizard announced. Charlie, Arthur, Percy, and George waved their wands at the casket, which floated. Dozens of mourners rose to follow the procession to the graveyard.

"That's my cue to leave," Malfoy whispered, and Harry saw the grass sink again. "Read my letter, Potter." Harry heard the swish of a cloak.

"Wait-"

The air was still. Feeling discombobulated and guilty that he hadn't adequately listened to George's eulogy, Harry trailed after the others in their sea of black. He joined Ron and Hermione and watched with them as Fred's coffin landed with a soft bump in the deep grave. When the tufty-haired wizard sealed the hole with loose dirt, Harry was reminded of Dobby's grave by the shore. The sea lavender Luna had placed by it was surely dead by now, and Harry hoped Bill and Fleur remembered to put new ones in the jar.

The sky began to clear, clouds dissipating in a warm breeze. Ginny looked up towards the heavens as the rest of the funeral procession stared at the ground in a moment of silence. Harry watched as her coppery-red hair blew in front of her face, and he thought he saw her lips moving in prayer.

***︎

"It's ready now."

Hermione lifted her wand from the envelope, sealed with the dark green of the Malfoys. She had spent the past few minutes murmuring over it, hoping to dispel any curses. Harry thought the precautions rather silly and pointless, but he was so curious to read the letter he figured it was faster to let Hermione have her way.

"Thanks, 'Mione." Harry reached for the letter and carefully opened it, pulling out the sheets of parchment inside.

"Read it aloud, won't you?" Ron requested. The three of them were seated in the Weasley's small living room, and Ron could've comfortably leaned over to read, but he seemed to be amused by how bothered Hermione was by Draco's letter.

"It's his mail, Ron," Hermione said.

"You want to know what it says, too, don't you?"

Hermione squirmed. "Well, …yes."

"Alright, it's settled. Go on, mate."

Harry, who had been scanning the first lines, cleared his throat and read aloud:

**Potter,**

**It may interest you to know that I will be at Fred Weasley's funeral.**

"I didn't see him," Ron interrupted. "I would've seen that blond ferret from a mile away."

"Ron, let him read," Hermione chided, then asked, "Did you see him, Harry?"

"Not exactly," Harry replied, and quickly read on before she could respond.

**Of course, I seriously doubt I will be wanted there. I will be sitting in the back, invisible. Whether you care to join me or not is at no concern of mine.**

"Sitting in the back?" Hermione said. "But Harry, you were sitting in the back!" When Harry did not reply, she continued, "Did you talk to him?" Harry stayed silent. "Oh, Harry! Why didn't you say anything? What if he hurt someone?"

"Why would he hurt anyone?" Harry said, somewhat defensively. Two weeks ago, he would've Stunned Draco without thinking, but now he was beginning to resent how everyone blamed the young Death Eater for everything. "Let me read the blasted letter, will you, please?"

Hermione sealed her lips, furrowed her brow, and nodded.

**Anyway, there is something else I wanted to talk to you about. As you may not know yet, Hogwarts is hosting another year of classes for people who were displaced by the war last year. I assume you, Granger, and Weasley will be attending. At the insistence of my parents, I will also. In our eighth year at Hogwarts, I want to change the relationship between us. Seven years of animosity will not fade so effortlessly, but I wish for you to be civil to me.**

"He's the one who should be civil!" Exclaimed Ron, who was shushed by Hermione.

**I still bear the Dark Mark. I was once the enemy. But Voldemort is dead; his followers are now on the run or in hiding. Keep what I am about to say next to yourself, or at least within your so-called 'Golden Trio': I regret joining him. I regret so much, Potter. More than you know. See you at the funeral.**

**\- Draco Malfoy**

Harry folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope. The three of them stared at it.

"That didn't sound like Malfoy at all," Hermione suddenly said, and at the same time, Ron wondered, "People call us the Golden Trio?"

"A few have started to, yeah," Harry addressed Ron first, then turned to Hermione. "I agree. It sounded very strange.

"I wonder if he actually wrote it." Hermione tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Maybe his mother did?" Harry had informed his two friends of Narcissa's betrayal to the Dark Lord in the Forbidden Forest, and they were now aware of her softer side.

"It's possible." Harry adjusted his glasses, then remembered something Draco had said to him at the funeral. "Malfoy told me that he's better with written words. He said, basically, that he speaks without thinking, but writing letters conveys his thoughts better."

"Draco does have a big mouth, so that makes sense," Ron agreed. "But the content is weird. He regrets? How can you feel regret if you don't have a heart?"

"I'll write back," Harry resolved, ignoring Ron's comment. "Hopefully things will make more sense then."

The three's discussion was cut short by the sound of soft footsteps at the doorway. Ginny stood there with a shawl wrapped about her shoulders. The twilight sun through the window turned her hair a fiery color, and Harry was suddenly struck by how beautiful she looked.

"It's time for dinner if any of you lot are interested," She said. Her voice was uncharacteristically flat.

"I'm interested," Ron piped up.

"What's that letter for?" Ginny's brown eyes zeroed in on the envelope in Harry's hand.

Swiftly moving his thumb to cover the Malfoy seal, Harry replied, "From a classmate."

Before Ginny could ask any more questions, Mrs. Weasley popped her head in. Unlike her daughter, Molly seemed upbeat – as upbeat as a mother could be after her son's funeral. Harry could tell she was relieved that the war was over, at least, and the rest of her children were going to be safe and sound for a long time.

"I've got some news for you, young ones," Mrs. Weasley waved a letter at them, and Harry spotted the Hogwarts symbol. "There is going to be another year of education for those displaced by the war."

Harry exchanged a look with his two friends. Apparently, Malfoy was well-informed.

"Do we need to get books and things?" Hermione asked. Her eyes practically sparkled at the mention of school.

Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "This year is going to be…unconventional for you. The classes will include more practical use of magic, less homework, and more free time. That goes for all of the school, to recuperate." She patted Ginny on the shoulder. "Now, wash up, you all. It appears I still have the energy to cook." Molly left the room.

"Sounds decent," Ron beamed around at his peers. "Unconventional classes can pretty great sometimes."

"Not all the time," Ginny said sharply. She turned on her heel and left the room.

Ron, realizing that her classmates had been subject to torture the year before, turned ashen. "Ginny, wait, I didn't mean it like that." But she was already out of earshot.

"She knows what you mean," Hermione reassured him, but even she looked unconvinced. "Harry, why don't you…" She tilted her head towards the direction of the stairs.

"Oh." Harry nodded quickly, remembering that he was technically Ginny's boyfriend. "Oh, right." He slipped Malfoy's letter into his jean pocket and left as well, taking the stairs two at a time.

The door to Ginny's room was partially covered with a Holyhead Harpies poster, and Harry paused to watch a Chaser score a goal before knocking. When he was met with silence, Harry pressed his ear to the door and rapped again.

"Ginny?"

"I'd like to be left alone. If you don't mind." Ginny's voice had a muffled quality as if she was speaking from her pillow.

"I wish you'd talk to me a bit," Harry sighed. He waited for a few more moments. The door suddenly opened, and Harry jumped back from it.

Ginny's face was tearstained, and she had put on a red turtleneck. Stepping forward, she wrapped her arms around Harry's neck, standing on her tiptoes to be level with him. Harry returned the hug, understanding then how much he had missed her warmth.

"I do want to talk," Ginny murmured in his ear. She pulled back, her hands on Harry's shoulders. "About more than you know." Harry shivered slightly at the unexpected similarity her wording had to Draco's letter. "But not now." She leaned forward and kissed his forehead, then retreated back into her room.

Harry stood in front of Ginny's door for a moment longer. Part of him wanted to enter, to tangle his fingers in her hair, to hold her until her tears faded. Instead, he started back down the stairs for dinner, the green-sealed letter heavy in his pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea for this story started in 6th grade when I read this amazing Drarry fanfiction on Quotev that depicted Harry and Draco entering a relationship after the Battle of Hogwarts. Inspired, I started writing Drarry fanfiction, but only until now have I come up with a cohesive and interesting story, complete with side characters, LGBT representation, minority representation, and a new and exciting antagonist. Please enjoy When the Smoke Clears, a Drarry fanfiction (c. 2019).


	2. Between the Lines

Three days later, pieces of parchment were strewn across Ron's bedroom desk, scrawled with crossed-out phrases such as "what changed," "I forgive you," "but you're a Death Eater," and most commonly, "why."

Harry sat at the desk, quill in one hand, the other anxiously rumpling his dark hair into a nest. He was at a loss for what he could possibly say to Draco. How does one speak to a brainwashed, seven years nemesis who wants to become – at least it seemed – friends?

No, Malfoy couldn't possibly want to be friends. Harry took off his glasses and pressed his hand into his forehead. Polite acquaintances, _maybe._ But even that seemed too friendly for Draco.

Alternatively, Harry had considered the possibility of the Slytherin having ulterior motives. When they were younger, Draco never ran out of sneaky ideas to get Harry and his friends into hot water. But what use would that be now? The Malfoy name itself had been stripped of pride and purpose.

Why, then, did Draco regret? Harry knew _what_ he could regret; being a follower of Voldemort was a significant reason all by itself. But Harry had never seen Draco show a shred of remorse in the six years they spent together at school.

Until the Battle of Hogwarts. Harry had seen it for himself, through half-opened eyes when no one was watching his seemingly dead body: the unmistakable guilt scrawled across Draco's face, the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. The bruises along his jaw and hands, the tired and defeated way he watched as Voldemort proclaimed Harry dead.

The Chosen One swept the used parchment into Ron's wastebasket. Honesty, acceptance, and the respect Harry had for him, little though it may be. That's what Draco needed right now.

Harry smoothed out a piece of parchment and began to write.

** Draco, **

** You might not believe me when I say it, but it was nice talking to you the other day. I've been thinking a lot about your letter, and I decided that you're right. For this year, at least, I think we can make a fresh start. **

** I don't blame you for becoming a Death Eater, by the way. I don't want to blame anyone except for Voldemort; everyone has been pointing fingers lately, and I'm frankly sick of it. You were faced with hard decisions. I get it. I can't imagine the pressure you were put under from your parents, Bellatrix, even Voldemort himself. **

** But you did not betray me that night at the mansion. I know I sound crazy, but I trust you now. Probably more than I should. For the first time, I look forward to seeing you at school. Maybe this time around, we can get things right. **

** Sincerely, **

** Harry Potter **

It wasn't until Harry read through the letter again to check for mistakes when he noticed he had addressed Malfoy as Draco. Harry made to cross it out, then decided to leave it and write "Draco" on the envelope as well. He hoped if Lucius Malfoy intercepted it, he would give it to his son instead of trying to read it himself.

The Weasley's family owl, as well as Percy's, were out, so Harry found himself in front of Ginny's door once again. Ginny hadn't been out of her room except for meals, where she hardly talked and ate even less.

"Come in." A quiet voice answered Harry's soft knock, and he prepared himself to find Ginny in tears, lying on her bed in a grief-induced stupor.

The room was bathed in light. Every window was open to the near-summer sun and breeze. Countless paintings hung upon the walls, moving and swirling with color. Harry had seen many portraits and realistic pictures come to life, but never had he seen animated abstracts. One canvas held an ocean, painted in dabs of blue and green. Tiny black lines that represented birds flapped across the azure sky. Another painting was of a tree with rainbow leaves that fluttered with the wind coming in from the window.

"Wow," Harry breathed. He had only ever seen Luna paint this beautifully.

Ginny sat on a stool in front of an easel, a canvas spattered with polychromatic paint. The scene was a still life of sketchy potion bottles; out of the six items, Harry could recognize the scarlet of Amortentia and the small golden flask of Felix Felicis.

"Hi, Harry." Ginny's hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and she was wearing a white T-shirt smeared with paint. A fleck of blue had found its way on her cheek. She looked as radiant as an angel, so happy and right with the world. In that shining moment, Harry wanted badly to kiss her, to have a taste of her joy for himself.

"Um, do you need anything?" Ginny asked, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Pigwidgeon fluttered and chirped noisily in his cage, and for the first time since entering Harry noticed it. "Oh! Right, yeah. Could I borrow your owl?"

"Yes. I don't need him at the moment."

Harry retrieved Pig from his cage, the bird shrieking excitedly at the thought of a delivery. Harry handed the letter to the owl, who snapped it up and catapulted himself out of the nearest window.

"Excitable thing," Ginny said fondly, watching Pigwidgeon flap out into the countryside.

"Ginny," Harry said slowly, "Are you okay?"

Ginny quirked an eyebrow. "Do I look okay?"

"Yes. No. I mean you _seem_ okay," Harry said, tripping over his words. "It's just… You're not eating much. I haven't talked to you directly in three _days._ "

"Yesterday I asked you to pass the orange juice."

Harry laughed, and his cheeks ached from the unfamiliar action. "That doesn't count!"

Ginny giggled. "Sure, it does. See? I laughed. I'm fine."

"I believe you. But why don't you come down once in a while? I- We miss you."

The smile faded from Ginny's face. She turned towards her painting and picked up her brush. "No, it's okay. I like it up here." Harry walked across the floor to be closer to her, and he could see that the mirth in her eyes had been quickly replaced with longing. "The color, the vibrancy, the movement. It reminds me of him." Her voice faded with a whisper. "Fred. I can almost see him here. Just from behind a veil." The look on her face was plain as day. It was the exact same expression Harry wore when he gazed into the Mirror of Erised.

Her happiness was only skin deep. Inside she drowned in grief, in guilt. Harry knew it because the same turmoil was in his own heart. But what was he to do? Drag her away from the only thing that kept her sane? No.

After touching her shoulder as a reminder of his presence, Harry left the room without looking back for the second time that week. And like the last time, it felt like running away.

The next morning, the Weasley family was quite surprised to find not one, but two owls fly over their breakfast to land by the sink. Little Pigwidgeon was made even tinier by Draco's huge eagle owl, who clutched a note in its beak.

"Mail for…" Mr. Weasley checked the top of the folded parchment. "Harry?"

"Er, yes," Harry quickly took the note and surreptitiously tried to slip it into his pocket, but the family's curiosity was already piqued.

"Who's that from?" Percy said suspiciously, peering suspiciously over his new spectacles. "That looks an awful lot like Lucius Malfoy's owl."

"Indeed, it does." Arthur gave Harry a strange look. "Are you contacting Lucius?"

"No, no, his son, Draco," Harry said quickly, to dispel any more questions. Mr. Weasley did not look reassured.

"You-Know-Who may be dead, but it doesn't change the fact that the Malfoys are a nasty lot," The older man warned.

"What's it say?" Percy asked nosily.

"Um…" Harry opened the note, not intending to tell the Weasley's what it said, but wanting to see what Draco had written. Harry was already flustered from the suspicion, and his face began to burn when he read the message.

** Meet me behind the Boar's Head on June 16th at midnight. Come alone. **

Harry folded the note quickly. _It sounds like some sort of lover's rendezvous._ The thought was shoved out of his brain as soon as it had flitted in. Still, the unsigned and urgent note's wording sounded like something a lusty schoolgirl would write.

"What's it _say,_ Harry?" Percy prodded.

"It's just a question about what books we need," Harry lied. "Could I have a quill, please?" Once Arthur had handed him one, he scribbled on the back of the parchment.

** I'll be there. **

"How strangely civil of Malfoy," Percy said as the eagle owl took the note to deliver it. "Why would he contact you, anyway?"

Mrs. Weasley tutted at him. "I'm sure the poor boy has no friends."

"' Poor boy!'" Percy exclaimed. "Mother, his whole family are a bunch of murderers!"

As Percy and Molly argued, Harry met his two friends' eyes and jerked his head towards the stairs. The three of them slipped away from the breakfast spread and reconvened in Ron's room.

Hermione and Ron sat on the edge of Ron's bed while Harry sat on the bed opposite. "Asking about schoolbooks was obviously a load of dragon dung," Ron stated bluntly, "So what did the git _really_ say?"

"Malfoy wants me to meet him in Hogsmeade on the 16th. Of June, I mean." As Hermione and Ron made concerned faces, Harry continued, "And I have to come alone."

"Harry!" Hermoine gasped. "No way! This is definitely a trap."

"Let us come with you," Ron offered. "We'll hide under the Invisibility Cloak. As soon as Malfoy tries to curse you, he's toast."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, a frustration-induced headache beginning to form behind his eyes. "Why must you always assume the worst of him?"

"Why do you believe the best of him?" Hermione countered.

_ Because he's just a scared child who saved my life,  _ Harry wanted to say. "I understand why you don't trust him," He said instead. "I don't know if _I_ should. But when I talked to him the other day, he seemed sincere. For once. Voldemort is dead, you know. He has nothing left to fight for."

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh. "Fine, Harry. But please, _please_ be careful."

Harry inclined his head in a gesture of apprecitation. "Thanks, Hermione. Trust me on this. I took down the Dark Lord - if Draco tries to attack me, I can handle him."

Hermione reached out and squeezed Harry's hand. "I hope so, Harry. Because I don't think any of us would be able to handle it if you died, too."

The next weeks were some of the slowest Harry had ever experienced. After months of chasing down the Horcruxes, countryside familial life seemed downright monotonous. He was grateful for the safety, but now that he had the meeting with Draco to think about, he couldn't think about anything else. The curiosity - and slight fear - made him so apprehensive that he was having trouble sleeping. Harry almost hated Draco for it, for making his adrenaline flow so strongly.

The night of June 16th enveloped the U.K. in warm breezes. The sky was clear, allowing the stars and constellations to shine nearly as bright as the waning moon. Hogsmeade, even at midnight, still bustled with bits of activity. Late-night revelers talked and laughed at The Three Broomsticks, Madam Rosmerta's butterbeer fueling their fun.

With a whoosh, a figure landed gracefully on the ground and dismounted from an old Nimbus Two Thousand.

Harry squinted into the darkness behind the Hog's Head, but he didn't see Malfoy until he stepped into the moonlight.

Draco's gray eyes looked Harry up and down, then into the shadows behind him. "Potter." He said, in the exact same tone as always. "You're by yourself? Were you followed?"

"I don't think so." Harry gave a cursory glance behind him. "What's with the secrecy, Malfoy? And why tonight?"

"My parents had a banquet to attend. They won't be back until late, but we should hurry anyway."

"Hurry with what?"

Draco stepped closer; his feet were silent on the grass. He looked around fervently and whispered, "I want you to do something for me. If you don't think you can or don't want to, then fine. But this is really important to me. And I want you to be the one to do it." The look on Malfoy's face was one Harry had never seen on him before: he looked frightened but hopeful.

"Well, at least tell me what it is before I agree to anything," Harry said, trying not to sound too confused.

Malfoy's pale hand emerged from the folds of his black cloak and reached for his left arm. Harry swallowed as his rival pulled back his own sleeve, revealing Voldemort's insignia. The skull and snake did not pulse with deep darkness as they did during the Dark Lord's height, but the faint crimson stood out on Malfoy's porcelain skin.

"There is an incantation," Draco said softly, "That removes the Dark Mark. I've only seen it happen once before, but I read up on it as well. Voldemort can remove the Dark Mark, but so can a person who is pure of heart." His eyes met Harry's, and the Chosen One felt his gaze piercing through him as Dumbledore's once did.

"Pure of heart?" Harry asked, faintly. "I…I'm not perfect. And my magic's not that advanced, Malfoy. Why don't you ask McGonagall or someone-"

Malfoy snorted. "Don't be ridiculous, Potter," He said, his normal tone returning. "People want nothing to do with me when they see this. You're the only one who doesn't give a damn about it."

"Of course, I give a damn," Harry countered, "That's the symbol of my parents' murderer!"

Draco opened and closed his mouth, paused, and sighed. His hand lifted to roll down his sleeve. "Fine. If you won't do it, then…"

"I'll do it." Harry surprised himself as the words slipped out of his mouth. He could almost hear Hermione gasping and scolding him, but he didn't care. Draco had saved Harry's life, and Harry had saved Draco from death by Fiendfyre. Their lives were intertwined now, whether they lived it or not. And if Harry couldn't give Draco at least a small consolation after going through what he did, then what kind of person did that make Harry?

The former Death Eater bowed his head by a fraction of an inch. "I hoped you could." Which, coming from Malfoy, was as close to a _thank you_ as Harry could ever get.

Harry extracted his wand from his jean pocket and touched the tip onto Draco's arm. The Dark Mark shivered, and the snake writhed. A chill ran up Harry's back at the sight of it, but he stayed still.

"The incantation is _Liberatio a Tenebris_ ," Malfoy said, his voice calm. "I read that, as you say it, you have to think of your happiest memory with the person who has the Mark." At Harry's raised eyebrow, Malfoy added quickly, "Take all the time you need to think of one."

But Harry had already chosen a memory. After the Battle of Hogwarts, as he sat upon Hagrid's shoulders, Harry had looked through the cheering students and relieved teachers to see the Malfoy family. They stood, not in the shadows, but in a square of golden light coming from a window. Narcissa was sobbing into Draco's hair and holding him close; Lucius, still stonefaced as ever, nevertheless had his hand on Draco's shoulder in a protective gesture. As Draco left his mother's embrace, Harry caught the look on his face. It was an expression of pure relief with a hint of joy, glad to be free from a nightmare. At that moment, Harry suddenly felt a surge of empathy for his rival. Both were young, thrown into dangerous situations by those controlling them, each performing tasks that put their lives and the lives of their friends in jeopardy. The only difference was that Draco would never be praised for what he had done.

"You thought of one already?" Draco asked, genuinely surprised, but Harry closed his eyes and didn't answer, pressing his wand into the Dark Mark. He recalled the golden sunlight of the dining hall, the joy that pierced through everyone's hearts, the reuniting families. But most of all, he remembered the look of happiness on Draco's face and wished with all his might to see it again.

" _Liberatio a Tenebris._ "

A flash burned itself scarlet on Harry's eyelids, and he snapped them open to see the Dark Mark begin to glow with a blinding light. The snake slithered into the skull, which started to fragment into smaller and smaller pieces until it turned into two-dimensional dust. The Mark dissipated and the light faded.

Harry stared, lips parted, at Draco's arm. The Mark was wholly gone, Malfoy's skin unblemished. "Whoa," Harry said, blinking away the afterimages of the spell.

"It's gone!" Draco cried, and a grin spread across his face. Harry looked up at him curiously. He had never seen Draco genuinely smile before. "Potter, you're incredible!" The Slytherin moved as if to hug Harry; but then his arms stopped in midair, and he retreated quickly as if he nearly touched a piece of hot metal.

A few awkward moments passed, Malfoy refusing to meet Harry's eyes. "Erm…that was an interesting spell," Harry said slowly.

"Yes, indeed it was," Malfoy seemed to have returned to his cold self. It was hard to tell in the moonlight, but Harry could've sword he saw him blushing. Malfoy continued, with enormous effort, "Thank you."

"Of course." As soon as Harry spoke those words, he realized how hollow and fake they sounded. Helping out Draco was the last thing he would have expected himself to do.

Malfoy didn't seem to notice; he was now looking at the sky, scrutinizing the stars.

"Malfoy?" Harry said. Draco continued staring into the heavens, then gasped suddenly. "Hide, Potter!" He commanded, and the urgency in his voice was so intense that Harry immediately whipped his Invisibility Cloak from his pocket and draped it over himself.

From the sky, a silver shape dove towards the two of them. Harry watched as it landed elegantly on the ground; it was a Patronus and a beautiful one at that. A partially transparent, pearl-white peacock fluttered its tail and tilted its head toward Draco.

"Your mother and I have further things to discuss with the Lestrange's estate, Draco," Lucius Malfoy's voice sounded strange oozing out of the beak of such a lovely creature. "We will Apparate home tomorrow at seven o'clock." The peacock turned abruptly and launched itself back into the air without a sound, gliding on an unseen wind.

Harry dragged off the Invisibility Cloak. "The Lestranges?" He inquired, unable to keep the accusatory tone out of his voice. "Your parents are still doing Death Eater work?"

Draco shot him a nasty look. "In case you forgot, my mother's sister was killed. The government did a month-long inspection on all her things, and now my mother is sorting the rest out so she can finally have a funeral. Anyways, Potter," he made harsh eye contact, "I'm not my parents. The Death Eaters are over. Why can't you see that?"

Bristling, Harry bit back a retort. After a few moments, he realized Draco was right and had only been echoing what Harry himself kept telling Ron and Hermione. "I'm sorry," Harry managed, then he remembered something else. "Hang on. The Patronus…won't your dad know that you're not where you're supposed to be?"

Draco shook his head. The action caused a stray lock of hair to fall in his face, and he irritably brushed it away. "Come now, Potter. Aren't you supposed to be a Patronus expert? It's only meant to deliver a message, and it travels fast enough so that he won't know how far I am from home. Stop worrying."

"I wouldn't worry about you," Harry said before he could stop himself, but to his surprise, Draco sniggered instead of getting offended.

"Fair enough, Potter." Draco turned with a swish of his cloak, heading for the front of the bar. He called over his shoulder, "Let's get a drink, shall we?"

***︎

A few minutes later, Harry found himself sitting across his sort-of enemy in the dimmest corner of The Three Broomsticks. Though Draco didn't want to be seen out of Malfoy Manor and the Hog's Head was far more inconspicuous, the Slytherin said he'd rather _die_ than drink whatever filth Aberforth was serving. Though Harry suspected Draco's aversion to the bar had more to do with meeting the striking eyes the same blue as the man he nearly killed.

"Harry Potter!" Madam Rosmerta beamed as she ambled to their table. "A great pleasure to see you."

"You too, Madam Rosmerta," Harry returned.

"I'm sure the other customers would be equally glad to meet the Chosen One tonight, but I'm afraid they've put down a bit too many firewhiskies," She giggled. "A butterbeer for you? And how about your friend?" Her gaze shifted to Draco, whose face was buried in a handkerchief in feigned sickness.

Draco pitched his voice higher, as his was already deep, and said, "Firewhisky, please."

Madam Rosmerta nodded. "On the house! I'll never forget what you've done for us, Harry." She swept away, stopping at the bar to clean up a drink a drunk customer had spilled.

"Firewhisky?" Harry said appraisingly at Draco, who had emerged from his cloth hiding place. Harry himself hadn't drunk firewhisky since Moody's death, and he doubted he would for a while. "That's strong stuff."

"Oh, please, Potter. What are you, twelve?" Draco rolled his eyes at Harry, and Harry stifled a giggle, struck by how the mannerism was the exact same one Draco made at him in Potions class one. "What's so funny?" Draco asked, but there was no malice in his question.

Madam Rosmerta came back with their two drinks, saving Harry from answering and prompting Draco to feign a coughing fit and turn his face away.

After a few sips, the two of them felt comfortable enough to start talking again. "Why did you write me that letter?" Harry questioned.

Draco gazed into the amber-scarlet tones of his firewhisky as he replied, "It's like I said. I want to start over."

"Sure. But _why?_ Why remorse, now?"

"Jeez, Potter, I hoped you'd know I had a conscience at least," Malfoy said with a scowl.

Harry peered over the edge of his glasses to give the Slytherin a skeptical look. "In the first and second year, you were horrible to Ron and

Hermione because of their lineage. In our fifth year, you joined the Inquisitorial Squad to unfairly punish kids for stupid things. In sixth, you nearly killed-"

"Just because I'm a shit person doesn't mean I don't regret it," Draco muttered angrily into his firewhisky. Harry thought he saw tears in Draco's gray eyes, but the blond blinked them away before Harry could decide if it was the trick of the firelight or not. "I was young and misguided, Harry. And I'm naturally an awful person, influenced by awful people. I _know_ that. You really think I don't know that?" Malfoy met Harry's eyes then, and Malfoy's gray eyes were filled with anguish. "I've made so many mistakes. People have died because of me. And I hate to say it, but I have to fight my instincts not to keep doing it. My wand was raised to curse you at the funeral, Potter, and it took me a while to realize there was no reason to. I didn't tell you because it was what you'd expect. I didn't want you to think even less of me than you already do."

The silence slunk in between them like a thick, venomous snake. Draco's hand gripped his firewhisky so hard that the glass shook.

On an impulse, Harry took out his wand and set it on the table. Startled, Draco snapped out of his turmoiled trance and stared blankly at it. "Curse me," Harry offered.

"What?"

"Curse me." The idea Harry had suddenly come up with started to sound like a bad one, but he pressed on. "I don't know, maybe it will make you feel better. Take my wand; I won't defend myself." Harry braced himself, trusting Draco to at least not pick a painful hex.

Instead, Malfoy threw him such a dirty and hurt-filled glance that Harry physically flinched. "Didn't you listen to what I just said?"

"Yes," Harry insisted, "I'm just trying to…I mean…If you curse me, then-"

Malfoy stood suddenly, pushing his chair back with a loud scrape. "You don't get it, do you?" He snarled. The rest of the establishment turned to look at the commotion. Madam Rosmerta made a slight gasp as she recognized a former Death Eater, but she made no move as Draco stormed out of The Three Broomsticks.

"Malfoy, wait…" Harry snatched his wand up from the table and rushed out the door. Too angry to remember about Apparating, Draco was walking briskly away into the night. "Malfoy, I'm sorry, I can't imagine what you went through!"

Draco whirled around. The tears in his eyes threatened to fall to the ground, and he furiously wiped at them. "What I went through? I put people through fates much worse than my own, Potter. Don't you get it? The last thing I want to do now is hurt people!" His trembling hands reached up towards his head. "And yet, there's a part of me _begging_ to hit you with the Cruciatus Curse."

Harry felt like he did as a first-year, watching Quirrel struggle with the spirit in the back of his head. _Even in death, Voldemort continues to poison lives._ "Malfoy, honestly, I want to help. Just tell me how." He held out his hand for Draco to take.

The former Death Eater shook his head, his expression that of a scared child's. "No…no, I'm losing control. I can't be near you."

"I can protect myself from you-"

_ Crack.  _ Draco's shaking figure spun on the spot, and he Disapparated into the summer night. In the stillness that followed, Harry stopped breathing for a moment, overcome with the sudden change in his relationship with the young Slytherin. From childhood rivals to moral enemies to…what?

Friends? One broken person leaning on another?

Amidst all the confusion, Harry could only be sure of one thing: this year at Hogwarts would be an interesting one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter explores how written language compares to spoken language. Often, people have an easier time conveying what they want to say through writing; it also tends to leave a deeper, more permanent impression. In this chapter, characters will learn that verbally communicating is fallible, and can lead to hurt feelings and misunderstandings.


	3. Drifting

_ Spinning blue, emerald green, scarlet, and violet. Paint splatters whirled like birds around a girl with fiery hair. Her eyes were closed, her face peaceful, but she sank into the colorful void without so much as a scream. _

_ The paint melted into a black wax, morphing into skulls with hideous snakes emerging from their mouths. A boy's gray eyes dripped tears of blood, marring his impossibly pale skin. _

_ "Don't leave me." Her voice, his voice, blending into a desperate cacophony. "Don't you dare turn your back on me!" _

Gasping, Harry pushed himself up on his arms. The remnants of the dream seemed to pulse at the edge of the pressing darkness. Without Hermione's voice to comfort him, Harry had to work to calm his pounding heart.

Pressing the heels of his hands onto his closed eyes, Harry curled into a seated position and concentrated on his breathing. _In, out._ After a few moments, he lay back down, but his subconscious had no desire to return back to the dream, and he was unable to fall back asleep. Ron began to snore one bed away. Harry fumbled for his glasses, slid them on, and squinted through the dark at the clock. Four in the morning, precisely. Sighing, the Boy Who Lived swung his legs out of bed, pulled on a sweatshirt and grabbed his wand.

Downstairs, Harry found himself unsurprised to see that Ginny was awake as well, sipping a hot chocolate at the kitchen table.

"Hey," he greeted, and she nodded at him. "Dreams?"

"Yeah." Her voice was hoarse. Harry waited for Ginny to say something more, but she only lifted the mug to her face for another, longer drink.

"Are you ready to talk now?" Harry asked when she was finished. Ginny shrugged tiredly, brushing her hair back from her face.

"There's no more to talk about," She said softly. "Everything's over now. Everything should be fine, but…" She tapped the side of the mug and didn't meet his eyes. "I'm _not_ fine."

Though they sat close to each other, Harry felt separated from her by an ocean. He took her hand, but though she squeezed it, Harry didn't feel as if he had sincerely reached her.

Ginny continued, "It's like I'm disconnected from everything. When I'm painting, I'm happy, but it's not _me,_ that's happy. I'm not _me_. Does that make sense?" She shook her head in frustration. "I'm not making any sense."

"No, I…I think I get it." And Harry did, almost. He wanted so badly to look inside her heart, to understand her turmoil. But just as he helplessly watched Draco dissolve into anger, he was watching Ginny's bubbly persona disintegrate.

"I'm sure things will be better once school starts," Ginny said. She peered into her mug, but it was regrettably empty. "Once we get back into the rhythm of things." She grinned at Harry crookedly. "I'm also sure you'll have a lot of fun in your _eighth_ year."

"Ha, right," Harry said ironically, but in a way, he looked forward to school. It would be nice to go to classes without fear of meeting a monster in a hallway or dealing with Voldemort's followers around every dark corner. For once, he could experience Hogwarts untainted by the Dark Lord.

Ginny stood with a scrape of her chair and placed her mug on the kitchen counter. She opened the fridge and rummaged about for a carton of milk, which she poured into the mug. Pointing her wand at the liquid, Ginny muttered a spell, and Harry saw the telltale vapors of heat emerge from the cup. "Hot chocolate, Harry?"

"Sure."

After mixing their drinks, Ginny pushed another mug in front of Harry. He took it and sipped gratefully, remembering how much Lupin praised the healing benefits of chocolate. _Used_ to, at least. Wincing at the memory of his deceased teacher, Harry pushed the thought away and drank a big gulp of his hot chocolate. He wanted to forget the deaths of everyone he loved and focus on happy memories. If he didn't, what was the point of staying alive?

Through the next month, time sped by with little to no meaning. Harry found himself counting the days until September first, barely participating in the Weasley's various summer activities and withdrawing into Ron's room. He didn't even play Quidditch; even George had mustered the spirit to play a match with Ginny, Ron, and Hermione, who had yet to master flying. Instead, Harry watched them tussle with a homemade Quaffle from the ground, simultaneously keeping his eye on the sky for an eagle owl.

After their talk in the kitchen, Ginny spent more time with her brothers and less time holed up with her paintings, which Harry was happy to see. And yet things between them hadn't gone back to normal; the embraces and clandestine kisses from the sixth year seemed like a distant memory. The most physical contact Harry received from his so-called "girlfriend" were occasional hugs that felt sisterly. He didn't say anything, though. Harry gave Ginny as much time and space as she needed, in hopes that he would one day be hers once more.

One Friday morning, Harry woke as robotically as he usually did, dressing in nondescript Muggle clothes. Ron had left bed already, which Harry raised an eyebrow at. Often the youngest Weasley son didn't deem it necessary to rise until afternoon.

The scent of bacon, syrupy pancakes, and buttered toast drifted up the stairs, making Harry's stomach growl. He made his way down the steps with a bit more haste than usual.

"Good morning, Harry!" Mrs. Weasley greeted brightly, giving Harry a motherly kiss on the cheek. Harry's eyes grew wide at the food on the table: bacon, pork sausage, fruit salad, muffins, toast, pancakes, and eggs every which way. "Thought I'd whip up something a little more special for you. Ron said you wouldn't want presents, but if you'd like…"

"He doesn't _want_ presents, Mum!" Ron stuffed his face at the table, Hermione watching him with an expression that was both disgusted and impressed. "We're too old for that stuff. Unless you really want something specific, Harry."

Harry blinked in bewilderment. "Presents for what?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look. Arthur chuckled, "Your birthday, of course! Boy's lost a couple of his marbles, has he?" He added to his wife, causing her to hit him on the shoulder.

An apprehensive shiver ran down Harry's spine as he realized that he was, in fact, eighteen and already a year into adulthood.

"Thanks for all of this, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said gratefully, sitting down next to Ron.

"Less talking, more eating," George interjected. He entered the room with a bounce in his step, followed by a tired-looking Ginny. George plopped down across from Hermione and immediately loaded his plate with pancakes. "Too bad Percy got called away for another equipment check-in Ireland. _Accio whipped cream_." George's wand summoned a red can from the kitchen, which he shook violently.

"Hand that over when you're done, will you?" Ron asked.

"George, have you finished packing yet?" Molly untied her apron and sat down at the end of the table.

George laughed nervously. "I _will_ be by tomorrow."

"Are you leaving?" Harry questioned, putting down the bottle of maple syrup.

"Re-opening Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley," George nodded. "I thought I mentioned it."

"You did," Hermione shot Harry a look, "Mr. Potter here just has his head in the clouds."

Harry swallowed and refused to meet her eyes, focusing instead on cutting up his pancakes. Ever since he and Malfoy met, Hermione had been short with Harry; he'd given her minimal information about the conversation, and she knew it.

Despite the glaring awkwardness of Harry forgetting his own birthday, the Weasleys and company enjoyed the lavish breakfast while talking and joking, laughter flowing as easily as it did before the Dark Lord wreaked havoc.

***︎

A day of celebration was apparently all Harry needed to pull out of his Draco-induced funk. Ron persuaded him to compete against George and Ginny in a game of Quidditch, much to the relief of a bruised Hermione. It was Harry's first time on a broom in a while, and he missed the feeling of the wind in his hair and clothes, the dropping sensation in his stomach when he swooped for the Quaffle…

In fact, it was the first time he'd been on a broom since dragging Draco from the Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement. But the memory didn't break free from his subconscious, and Harry remained blissfully unaware of that reality.

As twilight descended upon the Burrow, Hermione enchanted a large, empty flowerpot to burn with cheerful blue flames. George dusted off a bunch of wicker chairs hidden in the shed and arranged them around the fire. Arthur and Molly, yawning and complaining of an unnatural chill in their bones, retired to bed. Not letting an opportunity go untaken, George summoned a case of firewhisky from the cellar and passed it around.

"Thanks, George," Hermione said. Harry could tell she bit back a reprimand for the alcohol, but Ginny was the only one not of age and Hermione wouldn't chastise her, of all people.

"Nothing but the best for my future sister-in-law," George winked, causing Ron to splutter and Hermione to retreat into blushing silence.

"Don't push that on them," Ginny remarked, her tone lighthearted. "Well, don't push that on Hermione."

"I see how it is," Ron grumbled into his bottle. Hermione leaned into him, and Ron draped an arm around her shoulders. Harry envied their comfort around each other; though barely nineteen, the two of them already shared an aura of domestic bliss.

Ginny's chair barely touched Harry's. Her hand, like a pale blossom, rested lightly on the wicker arm. Harry moved slightly, thinking to hold it with his own, but Ginny suddenly shifted it to the edge of her seat instead.

George launched into an anecdote of a confused Wheezes's customer, causing the night's warm stillness to be punctuated by laughter. Harry joined in, too, stealing glances at Ginny. Her smile spread naturally across her face, without a sign of hollowness in her eyes. Ginny, by herself, seemed to be doing just fine without Harry. Though he was glad for her positive change in attitude, it bothered him that she didn't need him anymore.

As the silver light of the quarter moon spread over the Weasley's yard, the firewhisky bottles began to empty. Hermione yawned and rested her head on Ron's shoulder, both of them blinking sleepily. George gathered up the empty bottles and returned them to the case, hiccupping as he did so.

"I'm going for a walk," Ginny announced, standing. She stretched her fingertips to the sky, then adjusted her red and yellow-striped sweater. "Harry, why don't you come with me?"

Harry's heart leaped, and he had to control himself from doing the same. "Sure," He said casually.

The pair of them moved away from the blue light of the fire, heading in the direction of the Weasley's slightly overgrown garden. A wind that prophesized autumn whooshed through the plants, making the trees and Flutterby bushes shiver.

Silver moonlight lit Ginny's face, making her as pale as porcelain. "It's so peaceful out here," She said softly. Grass crunching beneath their footsteps. "I want to show you something."

Harry followed her into a circle cleared of weeds. In the center, a bush sprouted from the ground, dotted with lavender-colored flowers. The leaves appeared to be edged with silver, but Ginny knelt to touch them, and Harry saw that it was just a trick of the light.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Ginny stroked one of the five-petaled blooms. "It's called luna mortem. After thirty days of moonlight, the flowers fall off, and the bush begins to bud again. Mum planted it a couple of weeks ago." Her expression hardened. "But you didn't know that, did you?"

"No. I didn't."

Ginny stood and brushed stray dirt off her jeans. "You've been trapped inside your head for the past few weeks, Harry."

Harry felt heat rush to his face. "Look who's-"

"Look who's talking, yeah," Ginny admitted, "I haven't been myself, either. But this time apart from each other is what I needed. Of course, we can stay friends."

Harry's heart sank like a stone. "Are you…?" He couldn't bear to finish.

"We just won't work, you know?" Ginny looked at the bush instead of at Harry, but he could still see the tears that formed in her eyes. "Harry…I can't be with you."

"Okay." Harry stopped her before she could go on. "I understand."

Relief relaxed Ginny's shoulders. "Good." She reached forward and placed a hand briefly on Harry's shoulder. "This is for the best, I promise. Goodnight, Harry."

She turned to leave, footsteps growing softer and softer as she disappeared into the darkness of the garden. Harry watched her go, frozen to the ground. Ginny seemed lighter as if a considerable burden had been lifted from her shoulders. But Harry's heart was heavy as he felt her drift away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter opens with a dream sequence, one of my favorite types of scenes to write. I explored abstract imagery and symbols a lot in the waking-life scenes as well, blending the line between the conscious and subconscious to characterize the turmoil and complex emotions Harry feels.


	4. Moving Back Home

The Golden Trio Apparated together onto the platform nine and three-quarters with a _crack,_ holding luggage and in the boys’ case, slightly worn-out Nimbus Two Thousands. Harry missed carrying Hedwig’s cage, even if she did occasionally shriek at the sight of other owls.

George popped up beside them a moment later, making Ron jump back. “Why’re you here?” He asked, suspiciously.

“Oh, hold on to your pants,” George rolled his eyes and chuckled. He was dressed to the nines in his new WWW uniform, which consisted of a plum-colored suit, a lime-green undershirt, and an orange-banded top hat that curiously emitted smoke . “I’m sure Lee can keep the store from catching on fire in all the wrong places while I’m away. I’m just here to see you lot off.” He leaned to the side to look around their group. “Where’s Ginny?”

“I’m sure she’ll be here any minute now,” Hermione reassured him. “Your parents came with her later as she doesn’t have her Apparating license yet.” Harry squirmed; even though it’d been a whole month since Ginny dumped him, he hadn’t talked to her yet and had no wish to.

Seeing the distressed look on Harry’s face, Hermione began to hurry them along beside the train. “Er…we really should be going, or all the good seats will be taken.”

“Good point,” George doffed his hat at them. “Have a jolly good school year,” He added, in his best imitation of an upper-crust accent. 

“’ Bye,” Ron shook his head at his brother as Hermione hustled them on to the train.

“Think we ought to fill Ron in?” Hermione asked Harry as the three of them lifted their luggage onto the designated rack.

“About what?” Ron said. Harry shrugged and nodded; Hermione was the only one he had told about Ginny, for fear of Ron getting mad at him. He was Ginny’s brother, after all.

“Why don’t we sit down first,” Harry suggested. The three of them effortlessly found an empty compartment and sat in their usual formation: Ron and Hermione together with Harry sitting opposite. Ron crossed his arms and looked at Harry expectantly. “Ron…Ginny dumped me.”

To Harry’s surprise, Ron sighed with relief. “Oh, good.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Um, excuse me?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” Ron spread his hands in a gesture of peace. “I already knew you two had broken up. But I didn’t know if you dumped her, or the other way around. You didn’t break her heart, so it’s all good.” Ron lightly hit Harry’s knee, then pulled his hand back as he realized the awkwardness of the action.

The train began to fill with teens talking and laughing with each other. More and more students from different houses were friendly with each other, even with the few Slytherins present; now that Voldemort was gone, there was no need to fear fellow Hogwartians.

Ginny walked by their compartment, chatting so animatedly with Luna Lovegood that she didn’t notice them.

“ _She_ looks chipper,” Harry grumbled.

“Oh, don’t take it personally, Harry,” Hermione told him, but he was already tamping down the rising jealousy.

When the train’s whistle blew, Ron opened the window so the three of them could wave goodbye to Arthur and Molly standing on the platform. As the train pulled away, they sat down and made themselves comfortable.

“Your parents weren’t here today,” Ron observed. “Are they still at St. Mungo’s?”

Hermione nodded, her expression not giving away an ounce of pain. “Yes. My Memory Charm really did a number on them, but their memory is almost fully restored. A Healer sent me a letter the other day, saying they’ll be back to normal by Halloween.”

“That’s good to hear,” Harry remarked. It was the first piece of news he’d heard about the Grangers since the Battle of Hogwarts, but then again, he never asked. _This year,_ Harry told himself firmly, _I’m going to be more invested in my friends’ lives._

A knock on the door interrupted Harry from saying anything more. Ron slid open the door to greet the trolley witch.

“Anything from the trolley, dears?”

After picking out some Pumpkin Pasties, Chocolate Frogs, and Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, Harry shared them with Ron. The two of them dug in with such relish that Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“Come on, you two,” She chided, “There’ll be pudding at the castle.”

“But I haven’t had this in years!” Ron sighed, tearing off a chunk of pastry. “I’ve missed this. Reminds me of the good old days, when we met Harry, remember?” Ron guffawed at the memory. “You nearly bought out the whole cart!”

“Pity I wasn’t there to witness such a feast,” Hermione said wryly.

Harry laughed along with Ron until he saw a dark shape flit by the window. Draco, already in his black Hogwarts uniform, strode purposefully by.

“Um, I’m going to get another Chocolate Frog,” Harry stammered, leaping up from his seat.

“Why?” Hermione asked, suspiciously.

“A man could always collect more cards,” Ron defended. Harry slipped into an empty hallway, save for the trolley witch trundling along at the end.

Thankfully, Ginny preferred the far end of the train, so Harry wasn’t worried about running into her. He peered into the compartments, marveling at how few eighth-year students there were. From his own house, he recognized the Parvati twins, Dean, and Seamus. Aside from Pansy Parkinson, who seemed to be getting along with a group of friendly Hufflepuffs, Harry didn’t see any other eighth-year Slytherins until Draco.

The youngest Malfoy sat in a compartment all by himself. His chin was propped up on hand, elbow resting on the windowsill. Harry could make out the reflection of Malfoy’s steel-gray eyes as they stared out the window. Harry reached forward and opened the door slowly.

Draco jumped up at the sound and drew his wand. Harry inhaled sharply and took a step backward, but the young Slytherin sighed and lowered his weapon. “Oh. It’s only you.” Draco jerked his head. “Well? Don’t just stand there, Potter. If you’re coming in, come in.”

Harry stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Malfoy put his wand away and sat down but didn’t take his eyes off Harry. There was a certain tension in the blond’s figure, as if ready to attack. _His Death Eater instincts._ Harry realized and felt a stab of pity for him.

As Harry sat down across from his former rival, he noticed that Draco’s eye was bruised. “What happened?” He questioned.

“Oh, this?” Draco lifted his head to indicate the bruise. “My father came back from a business trip yesterday, and I accidentally revealed my arm to him. He was angry that I had the Dark Mark removed, so…” He shrugged, surreptitiously turning his head so that Harry could only see the undamaged side of his face.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, sincerely.

Draco shrugged again, the movement upsetting the fall of his Slytherin-emblazoned vest. After adjusting it, he said, “It’s no big deal. It’s not like I can’t take it.” His voice was soft, its usual venom subdued.

“I’m sorry for upsetting you the other day, too,” Harry pressed, trying to get his message across. “Really. I don’t understand what you went through.”

“Right. You don’t,” Draco agreed, but his tone was resigned instead of vitriolic.

“So, let me _try_ to understand.”

Draco sighed, his gaze drifting out towards the blurred view of the surrounding environment. Harry tried studying his face to see what he was thinking, but it was as impassive as ever. Draco’s lips parted, and Harry was suddenly struck by how soft they appeared. Embarrassed by the thought, Harry began to blush, grateful that Draco wasn’t looking at him and didn’t notice.

“I’m pleased that you’re willing to try,” Draco said simply, clasping his pale hands in his lap. “But if you don’t mind, I wish to be alone right now.”

Somewhat taken aback, Harry blinked. “But…I thought you wanted to talk more? To be friends?”

“All in good time, Potter.” The blond’s jaw was clenched. His eyes strayed towards the door.

“Okay.” Harry stood and spread his hands. “Fine. I’ll see you later, Malfoy.”

Feeling dazed and confused by Draco’s change in personality, Harry walked out of the compartment, not noticing that there was someone there until he bumped into her.

“Oop!” The girl stumbled back, and the stack of magazines she was holding spilled onto the floor.

“Oh, sorry about that!” Harry said, immediately kneeling to help her pick them up.

“It’s quite all right,” She said dreamily, tossing her long blonde hair out of the way. “I know you didn’t mean it, Harry.”

“Luna!” A grin spread across Harry’s face as he realized who it was. “It’s nice to see you.” Though many people may call her Loony, Harry felt that her oddball personality was the welcome, familiar thing he needed then.

Luna smiled, holding the stack of _Quibblers_ securely to her chest. “How lovely of you to say, Harry Potter. I missed you too.”

“I haven’t heard anything from you in months. How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you.” Luna tilted her head curiously. “But hasn’t Ginny told you hi from me?”

Harry shook his head. “Er…no. Why would she?”

“She and I have been writing back and forth all summer,” Luna said casually. “Ah, well. Must’ve slipped her mind.” She lifted a magazine from the top of the pile and held it out. “ _Quibbler_?”

 _All summer? Why didn’t she tell me?_ Harry’s thoughts were going a mile a minute, but he managed to take the magazine. “Uh, sure. Thanks, Luna.”

“Do you suppose Draco would want one?” Luna peered over Harry’s shoulder at Malfoy, who stared out the window.

“He wants to be left alone,” Harry said quickly, and Luna nodded serenely.

“Alright. I’ll see you later, then.”

“Wait, Luna.” Harry touched her arm in a companionable gesture. “Are you just going to talk to Malfoy like normal? Even after what his family did to you?”

Luna nodded again. “I forgive him. After all, he was only a child.” She drifted away, and her words echoing in Harry’s mind. 

_He was only a child._

***

Luckily, Harry was able to locate the trolley witch and buy a Chocolate Frog before heading back to his compartment.

“Stopped for a drink on the way?” Ron kidded.

“I ran into Luna,” Harry said truthfully.

“How is she?” Hermione inquired.

“She’s well,” Harry replied, and held up the _Quibbler_ to read the cover page. “She gave me this.” Now that Harry was no longer distracted by Malfoy, the writing on the magazine caught his full attention: _Ministry of Magic begins legalization of same-sex marriage._ Hermione stood up to read the magazine over his shoulder.

“Now that’s something the _Prophet_ will never print,” Hermione remarked, “I did hear about that, though. Finally, some steps in the right direction!”

“Lemme see,” Ron said, with a mouthful of pumpkin pasty. Harry tossed him the Quibbler, which the former Keeper caught deftly. “Huh. Weird.”

“You think so?” Harry plopped down next to Hermione and ripped open his Chocolate Frog. Albus Dumbledore’s brilliant blue eyes twinkled at him, and Harry quickly put down the card and bit the frog’s head off.

Ron didn’t reply and instead flipped through the magazine for the main article.

“Ron, why do you think that’s weird?” Harry pressed. “What, two people can’t get married just because they happen to be the same sex?”

“I’m not saying it’s _wrong,_ ” Ron said. “But c’mon, two blokes dating? Who ever heard of such a thing?”

“You wouldn’t be so inclined to protest if it was two girls in question,” Hermione teased, turning Ron’s face red.

“What if I was gay, Ron?” Harry interjected. Hermione and Ron both fell silent and looked at him with questioning eyes.

“But you’re not.” Hermione stated.

“I…well, obviously I’m not,” Harry felt himself flushing, a feeling he was getting rather tired of, to be honest. “But what if I was? Would you put me down? Call me a poof?”

“To be fair, you would be a poof,” Ron muttered.

Harry ignored him. “Or would you treat me just the same? As your friend?”

“Of course we would, Harry,” Ron insisted, “It’d take some getting used to, that’s all. I’m not homophobic.” He gave the Chosen One a strange look and Harry felt awkward for pressing the subject.

“We should get changed,” Hermione said suddenly, standing up. “Let’s go, you two. Grab your robes.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ron replied, reaching for his knapsack. “Coming, Harry?”

“Just a minute,” Harry grabbed his bag with one hand and placed the _Quibbler_ on the bench to read for later.

***

As Hermione had predicted, there was, in fact, pudding at the castle. Though the Battle of Hogwarts had left the first-year class smaller, the Slytherin tables emptier, and the conversation quieter, it didn’t stop the house elves from outdoing themselves for the start of the year feast. Harry heaped his plate with treacle tart, the familiar taste bringing bittersweet tears to his eyes that he quickly wiped away.

The warm golden light of the floating candles illuminated Harry’s friends’ faces as they leaned back from the meal. Hermione and Ron sat close together, Ginny introduced herself to a pair of sixth years newly transferred from Beauxbatons, and Dennis Creevey recounted the exploits of snake-slaying Neville to a group of wide-eyed first years.

Harry looked across to the Slytherin table, where Draco was sitting in cautious camaraderie with Pansy Parkinson and a few other students. As if he could sense Harry’s gaze, Draco looked up from his empty plate and met his eyes for the briefest second - a moment that seemed to last for longer than it truly did. Draco’s bright gray eyes held a look of hunger and longing, a loneliness that only an unfortunate few had experienced. Overwhelmed, suddenly, with emotion, Harry broke the connection.

“Attention, students!” Headmistress McGonagall’s voice boomed from the head table as everyone’s dishes vanished. “Before we begin the school year, there are a few things that you all should keep in mind. Firstly, let us have a moment of silence for those that we have lost.” When she said this, she bowed her head, and the rest of the dining hall followed suit. “Now. As you should be reminded each year, all students are banned from the Forbidden Forest. I am aware that many of you have faced dangers far worse than those in the Forest, but nevertheless, I will not have any of you needlessly dying from a stray centaur arrow or the venom of a giant spider.” McGonagall paused for effect, making the first years shift and whisper uncomfortably.

“There are some changes in staffing this year. Rubeus Hagrid has resigned from his post in order to pursue his passion as a dragon-trainer in Romania. He will be replaced by Professor Robert Quentin when he returns from his sabbatical in October.

“Our former Muggle Studies professor, Charity Burbage, tragically perished in the last Wizarding War,” McGonagall continued, smartly deciding not to mention the Carrows. “We are honored to host the Ministry’s own Amelia Bones to take over her position.” From her spot at the head table, the newly minted Professor Bones nodded at the students’ respectful applause.

“She’ll be heaps better than any other Ministry employee they could send,” Hermione muttered to Ron and Harry.

“The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is Dahlia Banlengchit,” McGonagall said, expertly pronouncing the exotic surname. “She comes to us all the way from Ilvermorny, the North American school. Though she is from Thunderbird house, she will be taking over as the head of Gryffindor.”

The new professor stood from the end of the head table, and there were a few collective gasps from the students at her appearance. She seemed incredibly young, with smooth, mahogany-colored skin, black pixie-cut hair, and intense brown eyes.

“She’s beautiful,” Ginny said softly, voicing the thought that most of the boys sitting at their table wanted to express.

Dahlia’s eyes darted around the room, finally landing on Harry. She met his eyes with an intense gaze, nodded slowly, and sat back down. Harry closed his open mouth, feeling his face get warm. _I really ought to stop blushing. I’m an_ adult _, for Merlin’s sake._

“One final announcement before you all go off to bed,” McGonagall raised her voice over the crowd of students that had become abuzz at the appearance of the new professor. “This year, the House Cup will work a little differently than it has in previous years. There will still be a trophy awarded to the House who accumulates the most points. However, if you all work together to earn _five hundred thousand points_ , you will all be awarded a grand prize.”

At this, the Great Hall erupted into excitement and protests. “Five hundred thousand points?” Shouted a loud fourth-year. “She must be mad! All the houses’ points combined have never gotten that high!”

“But what’s the prize?” Dennis Creevey piped up.

McGonagall held out her hands for silence, waiting for the students to quiet down. “I know this is a lot to take in. But have faith, children of Hogwarts. We must be united.” She paused once more to observe the tense faces. “You may all follow your House prefects to the dorms. Eighth-year students, please stay behind. Your school year will be the strangest of them all.”

In tightly clustered groups, young Hogwartians trickled out of the Great Hall. The students that remained were mostly Gryffindors, a handful of Slytherins, a pair of Ravenclaws, and a single Hufflepuff. The latter scooted to the front of his table to listen to what Headmistress McGonagall had to say next.

The aging witch stepped down from the head table as the professors behind her left their seats as well, save for Dahlia, who stayed quiet. “As you all know, the last Wizarding War displaced many families and caused your education to be interrupted. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley. It is only thanks to you three’s valiant efforts that we are sitting here this evening,” McGonagall gave them one of her rare smiles, mirrored by the rest of the Gryffindors. “Dean, Seamus, Parvati, Padma, Gavin, and Owen,” McGonagall addressed the Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff tables, “We thank you for your service in aiding our side during the war.”

Harry turned away from her after she spoke, watching Draco intently. The Slytherin’s jaw was already working - from anger? Harry wondered. Or was he imagining things?

“Slytherins.” With just one word, the air in the Great Hall changed into something more venomous. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw the formerly still Dahlia tilt her head towards the table of renegades. Three girls glared at the Headmistress while Draco merely stared at her impassively. “We shall not speak of the circumstances that kept you from attending last year. But if you’re going to get along with the others, you must abandon the values of your Death Eater parents.” McGonagall peered at the four of them over her glasses, making eye contact with each one. “Are we clear?” Three stiff nods. One pair of silver eyes sliding to the side, almost meeting Harry’s, then looking back again. “Fantastic. The four of you will lead your year to the Slytherin dungeons. Seeing as there are so few students, all four houses may fit in one section of the dorms. Perhaps some inter-house interaction will pacify any young Slytherins that may wish to…cause trouble.”

Harry exchanged apprehensive glances with Hermione and Ron, but none of them dared to speak against the Headmistress.

“Very well. Off to bed.” Headmistress McGonagall stepped back. The Slytherins were the first to move.

“Come on, you lot,” Pansy Parkinson sighed, motioning for the rest of the students to follow her.

“This is going to be a disaster,” Ron groaned.

“Agreed,” Harry said, though he was secretly intrigued. Before they left the Great Hall, Harry looked over his shoulder. Dahlia still sat at the head table, apparently lost in thought. Her fingers tapped slowly on the tabletop, the sound echoing through Harry’s head as he contemplated the year stretching out before him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a transition chapter, depicting the Golden Trio's homecoming to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. These scenes introduce a new character that will be crucial in moving the plot forward... I won't lie; it's a bit sloppy compared to the other chapters. But then again, many life transitions seem sloppy to the people going through them.


	5. Heart of Stone

_“Oi, George, pass the butter, will ya?”_

_A blue eye swiveling in its socket._

_“Wotcher, Harry.”_

_“The ones who love us never really leave us,” Sirius said, smiling, “You can always find them in here.”_

_“Harry…Potter.”_

_“HARRY!"_

Harry Potter woke with a gasp, a sheen of sweat covering his face. “Not again…” He muttered to himself, burying his face in his hands. A soft, green glow emitted from between his fingers, and he looked up blearily. The dormitory’s walls were made of dark, rough stone, its cracks pulsing with emerald light. The room’s ambience was a stark difference to the Gryffindor tower, and it was something that Harry felt would take a long time to get used to.

Figuring that there was no use trying to get some peaceful sleep, Harry slipped out of bed, wincing at the chilly stone floor. He put on his glasses, and after a moment’s hesitation, left his wand on the bedside table and walked out into the Slytherin common room.

Moonlight, filtered between seaweed and meters of water, still managed to light up the common room along with torches burning with green fire. Plush emerald rugs, stiff leather couches, and tapestries of Slytherin alumni gave the room a comfortable yet unfamiliar aura - it seemed dreadfully alien to Harry.

Large windows looked out onto the Black Lake, presenting a view of prickly underwater plants and sleepy grindylows. In front of one of the windows sat a young man with platinum-blond hair.

“I see you’re having trouble sleeping as well, Potter,” Malfoy said at the sound of Harry’s barefoot footsteps.

“How could you tell it was me?”

“I can see your reflection in the window, you dolt,” The Slytherin replied, meeting Harry’s eyes in the glass.

As the Chosen One drew closer, he noticed how Draco’s shoulders sagged with exhaustion, differing from his usual haughty posture. “Mind if I sit here?” Harry said.

Draco shrugged, tiredly and elegantly. “If you want.”

Harry settled down on the stone floor, crossing his legs and leaning back on his arms. A moment later, Draco shifted to imitate his position, but whether it was deliberate or not, Harry couldn’t tell.

A school of silvery fish flitted by the window, chased by a larger purple one. A grindylow twisted itself between a strand of seaweed, thoughtfully gnashing its teeth. In the distance, a mermaid crossed the scene, swimming from the surface down to the depths of the lake.

“I have something for you,” Draco said suddenly. He rummaged around in his pajama pocket and produced a red velvet box the size of his palm. “Here.”

Apprehensively, Harry took the box and opened it. Inside lay a smooth jet stone set in silver, hung on a delicate chain. _A necklace._ Harry hesitated to touch it, remembering that the last necklace he had known Malfoy to give had been cursed.

“It’s not cursed, I promise,” Draco said, sensing Harry’s unease. “I’ll show you what it does. Hand it over, Potter.”

Harry did so, and Draco fastened it around his own neck, dropping the charm beneath his black silk pajama shirt. “Look,” Draco unbuttoned his shirt partway, and the necklace had disappeared. “I had this made a couple of years ago. It turns invisible when worn and heats up when a person with ill intent against you is close. I told my mother how helped me out, and she suggested I give it to you. You’re probably going to need it more than me.”

“Wow, Malfoy,” Harry said, without a hint of sarcasm, “That’s…really sweet of you, actually.”

“No one’s ever described me as sweet,” Draco said bitterly. “Don’t start now.” He unfastened the necklace and handed it to Harry. Draco’s fingertips brushed Harry’s palm, the accidental touch sending tingles through Harry’s skin.

The Chosen One fastened the necklace; the stone felt chilly against his neck. Harry looked at Draco, who was watching him intently. “It’s not warm.”

Malfoy tilted his head curiously. “Did you think it was going to be? Because I’m here?”

“I…um…”

Draco’s expression hardened. His eye contact was as intense as it had been at the start-of-term banquet, silver orbs piercing into Harry’s soul. “Don’t be ridiculous, Potter.”

A flicker of movement caught the two young wizards’ attention. The giant squid had made an appearance, gliding slowly by the window. Its soft skin appeared dark red, with flecks of orange around its tentacles.

“I’ve never seen it up close!” Harry gaped, in spite of himself. The great beast filled him with a sense of childlike wonder, and at that moment, all fears and regrets were forgotten.

“Isn’t he magnificent?” Draco said softly. Harry looked at him curiously. Draco’s face wore a peaceful, content expression that Harry felt suited him much better than his signature scowl.

As the squid meandered serenely away, a pleasant silence settled between the two former rivals. Harry’s hand drifted to his new necklace, the weight of the cool stone grounding him securely to reality and away from nightmares.

 _How did this happen?_ Harry wondered, hardly believing that a Malfoy, of all people, truly wanted to have a civil relationship with him. _Why is Draco suddenly so nice to me?_ But instead of turning to Draco and asking, Harry let his questions and worries float away with the giant squid.

* * *

Thankfully, Draco left for bed at some point during the night, so Harry was spared some explaining when Ron found him asleep in front of the window. “Dreams,” Harry said quickly, and Ron nodded knowingly. 

“Sorry about that, mate. But we have to hurry; we’ve got Defense next, and Hermione doesn’t want to be late. First impressions on the new teacher, and all that.” 

Despite Harry getting dressed quickly, the trio still found themselves running to the familiar Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. 

“I’ve come to terms with your appetite, Ron,” Hermione panted, “But _why_ did you take so long this morning?”

“There were pancakes,” Ron proclaimed. They bickered as they had for years, but with much less malice than in their younger days. 

The three of them burst into the classroom and hesitated at the threshold as they took in the classroom’s wild appearance. The banisters of the stairs to the professor’s office were draped with warm-colored, gold-embroidered fabrics. Along the walls hung exquisitely detailed paintings, some of which, upon closer inspection, did not move. Bookshelves behind the teacher’s desk were crammed not only with books, but with papyrus scrolls, a few assorted statuettes, and a human skull. Two flags hung from the edge of the desk; a rainbow-striped one, and a red-and-gold flag depicting a ferocious bird. 

Off to the side, leaning against her desk, stood Dahlia Balengchit herself. Dark blue streaks had been added to her previously pure black hair. She wore normal black witch’s robes, which were open to reveal acid-washed jeans and a graphic T-shirt with the word _Nirvana_ on it. “Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley,” She said coolly as they entered. Her voice was lower than most women’s, though not unpleasantly so. “Please take a seat. Hermione, you may sit next to Owen. Ron, with Gavin. Harry with Anaya, there.” She jerked her head towards the back of the class, where a small, dark Slytherin girl sat stiffly. “Perhaps keeping you three apart will lower those tardy tendencies, eh?” She chuckled to herself as if there was a joke everyone else was missing. 

"You called us by our first names,” Ron said, surprised, as Hermione and Harry shuffled to their seats. 

“You called us by our first names, Professor Dahlia,” Came the retort. “Go on, sit. We don’t have all day.” 

Ron shrugged and plopped his bag down next to a curly-haired, bright-eyed Ravenclaw. As Harry settled into the seat next to Anaya, she glowered at him and purposefully moved her books between them. The stone on Harry’s chest grew slightly warm, to his lack of surprise. 

“And class has officially started,” Professor Dahlia announced, checking her silver watch. She smiled warmly at the gathered students, dark eyes sweeping over each one of them. “Welcome, everyone. A little bit about myself before we begin: as you all know, my name is Dahlia Balengchit. But to spare all of us the embarrassment of trying to pronounce my name, you may address me as Professor Dahlia. Sixteen years ago, I graduated from the house of Thunderbird in Ilvermorny, the North American school of magic. I moved to Britain immediately to study as an Auror. However, the need for Aurors dropped immediately after the death of The Dark Lord.” She paused and met Harry’s eyes. “So, I came to teach here. I look forward to a productive year with you all. Any questions?” 

The class stared at her in silence, slightly taken aback by her colorful personality. 

“Cool beans. Take out some parchment. Write down everything you want to learn this year and hand it in.” 

* * *

After class, Harry and his friends made their way down the stairwell, heading towards the dungeons for Potions. A flash of movement caught his eye, and Harry paused at a window. In the distance, a scarlet tentacle poked out of the lake and gave a friendly wave. Though he had no idea if the squid was pointedly waving at him, Harry still lifted his hand in greeting. 

“She seems a bit unorthodox,” Hermione said to Ron, farther down the stairs, “But we shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. She was an Auror, after all.” 

Harry turned from the window to join the pair, but a sudden coldness from his necklace stopped him. But before he fully registered it, a voice called out behind him. 

“Oi, Potter!” 

Ron whirled around faster than his best friend did. “What do you want, Malfoy?” 

“Didn’t say _your_ name, did I, Weasley?” Malfoy’s pale face sneered. “Carry on with your little girlfriend.” 

“It’s fine, guys,” Harry said, trying to keep the peace. “I’ll catch up.” 

Not without throwing a dirty look over his shoulder, Ron took Hermione’s hand, and they walked down the stairs, conversation continuing in murmurs. 

“Can’t you be a bit nicer to my friends, Malfoy?” Harry said sternly as the blond sped up his pace, so they walked in tandem. 

“What’s the point? They hate me,” Malfoy said dismissively. “Anyway, how’s your day been?” 

“How’s my day?” Harry gave short laugh. “It’s alright, I guess. Didn’t think you were the small talk type, Malfoy.” 

“Isn’t that what friends do?” Draco asked as they stepped off the stairs. 

“Well, what do you talk about with Parkinson? And those other two, um, Anaya something and…” 

“Anaya Rosier and Carrow? Not my friends. Mostly they talk about how their families are under a lot of surveillance now since their fathers were Death Eaters. They worry they’ll get hauled off to Azkaban at any minute.” Draco gave Harry a sidelong, meaningful glance. “Not typical friendship talk, I’m guessing?” 

Harry swallowed. “Not really.” The two of them passed a painting of a maiden sitting in a meadow. She waved and giggled at Harry, but upon seeing Draco, shrieked and dove sideways through her frame and out of sight. Draco scowled and sped up through the dim dungeon hallway. 

The smell of exotic ingredients and smoke drifted out from the Potions classroom. Harry paused at the doorway and briefly touched Draco’s arm. “We can be Potions partners, if you want,” The Chosen One offered. “And I can tell you what friends talk about.” 

Draco eyed him appraisingly. “Fine. As long as Weasley and Granger don’t make a huge fuss about me talking to you.” 

“They won’t,” Harry promised. “I’ll stop them if they do.” 

“Right.” Draco tilted his head towards the classroom. “After you, Potter.” 

Harry brushed past him, their hands accidentally touching, but the Gryffindor didn’t notice. Around his neck, the stone imperceptibly grew a few degrees colder. 

* * *

_The last two scenes were an edit I made after deciding that the original, larger scene didn’t quite fit the tone of the story and its characters. The following is that original scene, in which the Trio and Draco brew love potions in class, resulting in romantic hijinks. This scene is just for fun and does not affect the story as a whole. Enjoy :)_

* * *

Hermione lifted the chain of the necklace with her wand, gazing at the stone. Though it appeared to be a jet black, it still reflected light and glimmered in the sunlight of the Great Hall. 

"Fascinating," She muttered, dropping it back into Harry's shirt. "Has it warmed up yet?" 

Harry shook his head. "You're not worried it's cursed," He observed, "Do you trust Malfoy now?" 

"No one could ever completely trust him," Ron interjected, pausing from inhaling his breakfast. "But if Hermione thinks the necklace isn't cursed, then it isn't." 

"Honestly, I'm starting to think that Draco is serious about turning over a new leaf," Hermione shrugged and slid her wand into her robes. "I say we give him a chance." Before Ron could object, she continued, "We ought to hurry. We have Potions first class, and I think Professor Slughorn's favoritism towards Harry will have worn off by now." 

Ron scoffed. "Nah, are you kidding? I'm sure he worships the Chosen One even more now." He playfully punched Harry in the arm, and the brunet laughed and shook him off. Secretly, Harry was immensely relieved that Hermione and Ron hadn't been entirely put-off by Draco's gift. Although that probably had a lot to do with the fact that Harry left out the part about their midnight rendezvous and simply told his friends that Draco had given the necklace to him before bed. 

Footsteps echoed down the dungeon's corridors as the small group of eighth years made their way to Potions class. The Slytherins walked a few feet apart from everyone else. One of the girls was missing; Pansy Parkinson and her friend Anaya linked arms as they chatted with Draco. Harry found himself wishing for him to turn around, to catch his eye, but he stayed facing forward. 

"Good morning, children," Professor Slughorn greeted them as a dozen students walked in. He stood in front of his desk, hands crossed over his portly frame. "Ah, well, I should say, young _men_ and _women_. Glad to start the day with a challenging class!" He gestured widely to the potion-making stations, each equipped with a large, heavy-bottomed cauldron. "Pair up, everyone." 

Hermione and Ron immediately found a station, as did Dean, Seamus, Padma, and Parvati. Harry caught Malfoy's eye and gave him a questioning look. Glancing around and finding that they were the only pair left, Draco shrugged and crossed the room towards him. 

"I'll handle this, Potter," Draco shed his robe, draped it on the chair behind him, and rolled up his sleeves. "Potions is my best subject, you know. And you don't have that tattered book of yours to help you out this year." 

"You knew about that book?" Harry asked, shocked. _Did he know about the half-blood Prince as well?_

Draco arched an eyebrow at him. "Of course. I notice things." 

"Now, today's potion comes to us thanks to your older brother, Weasley," Professor Slughorn said, nodding at Ron, who looked up in surprise. "Nicknamed 'Twilight Moonbeams,' the potion is meant to cause infatuation from the potion drinker to the giver. Though it may seem like a silly, simple concoction, I've talked with Mr. Weasley about the intricacies of this surprisingly complex potion. I thought it might be fun for us to reproduce it. He gave me the secret ingredient-" Slughorn held up a glass jar filled with white dust, "But not its name. A pinch of this at the end of the brewing should suffice. As for the other ingredients, five leaves of belladonna, two milliliters Angolan caterpillar froth to reverse its poison…" 

Malfoy had already begun to scribble out the ingredients and instructions on a piece of parchment. Not wanting to be a hindrance to their work, Harry left their station to rummage for what they needed. 

"Mince these, will you?" Malfoy said, plucking leaves off a belladonna stem. "Where's the-" 

"Here," Harry handed him the jar of pickled viper tongues. Malfoy immediately opened it and set to work, pressing the juices from them. 

"What a strange recipe…" Draco muttered to himself as he worked. Harry dutifully chopped and grated, leaving the complex stirring pattern to the Slytherin. The potion began to turn into a clear sky-blue, giving off a strong scent of Muggle-made laundry detergent. 

When the cauldron began to bubble, Malfoy quickly extinguished the fire with his wand and sprinkled in the unknown white substance. The liquid settled into a soft rose pink, its scent becoming less pungent. 

Around the room, each cauldron appeared to be filled with potions that ranged from scarlet to pinkish violet. "Finished? Wonderful," Professor Slughorn waddled around the classroom, peering into each cauldron, "Well done, Granger and Weasley…Parkinson, Rosier, not bad…ah, Malfoy and Potter, you two _would_ produce a perfect replica of the original." 

"I owe my talent to Professor Snape, sir," Draco said, his tone most unlike the arrogant Malfoy Harry knew. 

Professor Slughorn patted Draco on the shoulder, which the young man flinched at. "Of course you do, m'boy. And now," He continued, addressing the whole class. "One per pair must administer the potion to the other. Er…Misses Patil, you should trade partners with Blake and Roswell. The effects will be too, ah, disastrous between siblings. There we are. Take just a sip, everyone. We wouldn't want half the class clinging to the other _all_ day long." 

Draco and Harry both eyed their potion, then looked at each other. "Maybe you should take it? Since you did most of the work?" Harry suggested. 

"Fine," Malfoy ladled out some of the liquid into a clean glass. "Cheers," He said, deadpan, holding the glass out to Harry. He took it and held it to Draco's lips. 

After taking the smallest sip he could, Draco leaned back. "Tastes how it smells," He said, wrinkling his nose. 

"Soap?" Harry cringed empathetically. 

"Yeah…" Draco's expression softened, and he gave Harry a blissful smile. "Soap." He sighed, in a very un-Dracolike way that made Harry slightly uncomfortable. "Wow. You have gorgeous eyes, Potter. They're like emeralds." 

Throughout the pairs of students, similar lovey-dovey sentiments were echoed. Harry blushed furiously. "Well, um…thanks, Malfoy. That's very kind of you to say." 

Draco reached out and placed his hand on Harry's in a loving, familiar gesture. "Of course, that's not to say that the rest of you isn't gorgeous." He winked flirtatiously, causing Harry's heart to, unexpectedly, skip a beat. 

"Oh-ho!" Professor Slughorn exclaimed, overhearing Malfoy. "Such advances, Mr. Malfoy! Don't go breaking his heart, now, Harry. He's delicate." 

"Only when I'm with Potter, I feel delicate," Draco said dreamily, "But of course, I know I'm safe with him." 

Feeling increasingly uncomfortable, but not wishing to offend the potion-addled young man, Harry simply played along. "Er…right. Of course. I would never hurt you." 

"If your partner tries to kiss you," Slughorn announced to the class, "Feel free to push them away; I'm sure they'll heal quickly from the rejection. Unless you'd rather let them," He added with a wink. 

Hermione walked over to Harry's potion station with a lovestruck Ron following closely behind. "Gosh, this is rather interesting, isn't it?" She said grinning. The rest of the class visited with each other, and Slughorn watched the chaos, chuckling to himself. 

"You could say that again," Harry replied as Draco rubbed his thumb back and forth across Harry's hand as he held it. The movement was strangely comforting and familiar, and Harry found himself enjoying it. "You have soft hands," He told Draco. 

"Aw, do I?" Draco stepped closer, so their faces were centimeters apart, and Harry felt himself blushing again. 

"Careful, don't encourage him," Hermione warned as Ron wrapped his arms around her in a back hug. 

"Does he ever get like that with you? Without the potion?" Harry asked, tilting his head towards Ron. 

"When we're alone," Hermione admitted. Ron planted a kiss on her cheek, and she giggled. "Oh, you little flirt." 

"I wonder if Malfoy is always like this with people he likes, or if it's just the potion," Harry mused as Draco began to caress his bare forearm. 

"It varies, actually," Professor Slughorn called to him from the safety of his desk. "But the drinker's personality does tend to change a bit." 

Draco's gray eyes gazed softly into Harry's own, and the Chosen One realized he didn't mind the affection as much as he thought he would. The blond's face was close, almost _too_ close, and Harry could see that Draco's eyes had a bluish tint that he had never noticed before. 

"May I kiss you?" Draco whispered, so politely that Harry had a fleeting urge to give in, but he pulled his hand away instead. 

"N-no, thank you," Harry stuttered, taking a step back. "Er…Professor? How long until the potion wears off?" 

Slughorn checked the golden pocket watch hanging off a chain on his waistcoat. "Shouldn't be more than five minutes more. As long as your partner _sipped_ the potion." 

"I hope he did," Harry muttered. As the time ticked by, Draco drew farther and farther away from Harry until he was at a comfortable two-ish meters away. 

Malfoy blinked and shook his head, the lovey-dovey expression on his face replaced by his normal stern one. "I…" He began, glancing at Harry. "Oh, sweet Merlin. Did I really say all those things to you? And hold your hand?" Draco's porcelain-pale cheeks flushed a deep red, which Harry found quite gratifying. "Sorry about that. I'm so embarrassed." The other students were making similar apologies to their partners, and everyone's skin was tinted in varying shades of pink. 

"It's alright," Harry said, privately amused that the usually stiff Draco had been reduced to a blushing mess. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter explores the fragility of new relationships and the steps that must be taken to strengthen them. Human connection, new friendships tripping over old ones...even as the characters grow older, they learn that the childish rivalries and bitter social fights are not childish at all, but a very real part of young adult life.


	6. Seeking Solace

It was blustery and chilly the afternoon of Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts, thin clouds scuttling along the slate-gray sky. Throughout the castle, athletes changed out of their school uniform, laced up their Quidditch robes, and strapped their gloves on.

Harry felt more nervous than he had expected, but he pegged it on the fact that he was flying on Ron’s old Nimbus Two Thousand instead of his long-lost Firebolt.

“Are you sure you don’t want to try out for Keeper?” Harry asked his best friend, who sat on the bed across from him. “You’re talented enough, and Ginny will definitely let you.”

“Positive,” Ron replied, tossing a green apple back and forth between his hands. “Honestly, I can’t be bothered. Schoolwork is enough for me this year. I want to keep things laid-back, you know? Speaking of which,” Ron threw the apple to Harry, who caught it out of reflex, “I’ve got a Herbology essay to write that Hermione’s gonna help me with. D’you mind if we stay here? You’ll make it for sure, anyway.”

Harry shrugged and stood up from his bed. “Yeah, that’s fine. See you later.”

“See you.”

Gripping the apple absentmindedly, Harry left the dorm and emerged into the common room, where a handful of Slytherins plus Hermione and the Patil twins pored over their books. Among them was Draco, writing an essay in perfect cursive.

“Where’re you off to, Potter?” He asked, without lifting his head, as Harry passed by.

“Quidditch tryouts,” Harry said, tossing the apple into the air once and catching it.

“Mind if I watch?” Malfoy said, closing his book with a thud. “I could use a break.”

“Yeah, alright. Grab a coat, the pitch gets windy.”

“I’ve been to the Quidditch pitch before, Potter,” Draco said dryly. Nevertheless, he picked up the black coat and Slytherin-striped scarf draped on the back of his chair.

A few minutes later, the pair of them strode across the grounds towards the Quidditch field, Harry holding his broom in one hand and tossing the apple with the other.

“Pre-tryout snack?” Malfoy asked, amused.

“What?” Harry looked at the apple and blinked. “Oh. Er… I’m not supposed to bring food. Ron gave it to me, you see, and I forgot I had it…”

Draco sighed loudly, cutting off what would’ve turned into an aimless, rambling tangent. “Give it here.”

Harry obligingly dropped the fruit into Draco’s slender hand. The Slytherin eyed it a moment before biting into the waxy surface.

“Are you wearing the necklace?” Malfoy asked in between bites.

“No. Jewelry’s a safety hazard.”

“Shame. It’d probably be able to warn you if someone intended to send a Bludger your way.”

Harry tapped his broomstick against his thigh, thoughtfully. “Huh. I never thought about it that way. Wouldn’t that be cheating?”

“If you get caught,” Draco said with a smirk. He finished off the apple and tossed its core to the ground.

“That was fast,” Harry remarked, watching it roll away in the grass.

“I like apples.”

Above the pitch, swirling figures darted around each other like red flies. Ginny’s voice shouted from the ground, and Harry’s heart skipped a beat as her fiery hair came into view. Clutching his broom tightly, he breathed deeply and tried to shake away his nerves. The youngest Seeker in a century. He reminded himself. Who got dumped by his girlfriend, spoke another thought, but he pushed it away.

“Looks like they’ve started without you,” Draco said. “You might as well give up.”

“They’re doing warmup laps.”

“I’m messing with you, Potter. Loosen up.”

“Piss off, Malfoy,” Harry said with a grin.

“Yeah, alright. Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

The wind kissed his face like an old friend as Harry kicked off from the ground. Though the Nimbus hardly had the turning ability of the Firebolt, it still flew beautifully. Harry landed on the pitch without so much as a whisper from his feet. Slightly breathless, Harry palmed his broomstick and walked over to Ginny, who yelled to the flyers above and gestured at them with a clipboard.

“Tryouts are supposed to start now, you lot! Come down! Oh, hiya, Harry,” Ginny gave him a glance.

“Hey, Ginny.”

“Just a minute…” Ginny pulled out her wand and touched it to her throat. “Sonorus. COME DOWN, PLEASE.”

With an overpowering whooshing noise, dozens of scarlet-clad athletes landed in a group in front of her, some less gracefully than others. Among the faces, Harry saw only a couple he recognized from the tryouts and subsequent team two years prior.

“Hello, everyone. I know you’re all excited to fly, but-” Ginny glanced at Harry again, who stood next to her. “Potter, could you stand with our prospective players, please?”

“Oh, right.” Harry shuffled to the crowd and faced her. He missed being captain, but Ginny was no doubt talented, and indeed more professional than he had ever been. She’s never called me Potter before, he thought, with a small sinking feeling.

“I’m glad to see such enthusiastic players and a great number at that. Of course, that means it’ll be harder than ever to pick our team. If you’re willing to work hard and put in the hours…”

Harry tuned out the spiel he’d heard and given many times before. He looked up to the bleachers, where a small crowd of fans had gathered. Sitting apart from them, Draco appeared as an all-black figure with a shock of blond hair and a stripe of green about his throat. Harry knew precisely how meticulously the scarf was tied, and somehow felt pleased to be aware of that detail.

“But of course, the most important thing is to have fun and try not to break any bones,” Ginny said with a broad, Fred-like grin. “Break up into your groups and let’s get started!”

Harry stood frozen, suddenly wishing he had paid attention, as the rest of the players split up. Luckily, Ginny gestured for him to stand with her.

“Do you mind helping me out today?” She said, keeping a close eye on the players as they lined up to score against the first potential keeper. “The few people who were going to try out for Seeker decided not to once they saw you sign up.”

“That’s a shame. It would’ve been nice to get to know the talent for next year.”

“My thoughts exactly!” Ginny flashed a smile at him, then made a few marks on her clipboard.

Standing so close to her, Harry felt a wave of awkwardness settle over him. Remembering how he used to hold her, how sweetly he’d kiss her…it seemed almost silly now to backpedal into being friends.

Draco caught his eye, and Harry realized that the same could be said for the Slytherin. After all, they’d been bitter rivals for years, and now they grew steadily more comfortable with each other as any pair of new friends would. If an enemy could become a friend, couldn’t a lover also?

“Harry…” Ginny began as she waved the first group down, “Look, I know we haven’t spoken much since…”

“Since you broke up with me, yeah.”

“Right. But I just wanted to clear the air. I hope that there are no hard feelings between us and that we can remain friends. I miss talking to you, like normal.” She turned to look at him, and Harry met her dark eyes.

“I miss that too.”

“So, we’re cool?”

“Sure, Weasley,” Harry said, giving her a friendly punch in the shoulder.

“Cool. Oh, that was a good save,” Ginny whistled appreciatively, and placed a checkmark next to a name on her clipboard. “Group two, swap out!” She called, and the players obliged. “I’ll have you join them in a minute, so you can get a feel for the play.”

When Harry kicked off into the air for the second time, all his worries flew away in a gust of wind. He scoffed at himself for getting so nervous for tryouts, though he could’ve been worried about seeing Ginny again.

_Hopefully, that will be my last bit of drama for a while._ Harry rose high above the pitch, watching the players as they weaved around each other like dancers. He smiled to himself, looking forward to what would surely be a violence-free, easy school year.

But then again, who was he kidding? He was Harry Potter.

  
• • •

  
An hour later, Ginny had managed to sort through the thirty-odd players, narrowing them down to a full team with a couple of backups. Harry was duly impressed that she had come to a decision so quickly; he deliberated for a whole week before choosing the final team in sixth year.

“Gather ‘round, everyone,” Ginny said. She cleared her throat and flipped to the second page of her clipboard. “Chasers: Willow Amara, Danny Cliffe, and me. Beaters: Richie Coote and Eleanor Hicks. Keeper: Quinn Winters. Congratulations, kiddo.” A shy but agile wisp of a girl stepped forward and received claps on the back from the others. A third-year, she was the youngest Keeper for at least a generation. “Seeker: Harry Potter. And that, my friends, is your 1998-1999 Gryffindor Quidditch team. Practice starts at five next Tuesday. See you all there!”

Ginny sighed with relief as the crowd dispersed, players chatting, congratulating, and lamenting as they tromped across the grass.

“We’ve got an amazing team this year,” Harry said confidently. “Especially with you leading it.”  
“Thanks,” Ginny replied, “If we work hard, we just might snag the Cup. Luna!” She called suddenly, her face lighting up.

Luna Lovegood walked serenely towards them, not in a rush by any means. Her long blonde hair was held back with two butterfly clips, and her Ravenclaw scarf brushed the ground. “Hello, Harry,” She said politely, linking her arm with Ginny’s. “Tryouts go well?” Luna asked the captain.

“Oh, yes,” Ginny gushed. “Just perfect. We have a solid shot at winning it all this year.”

“That’s wonderful,” Luna said as the pair of them began to walk back to the castle. “Nice to see you, Harry.”

“You too.” Harry watched them go, feeling slightly envious of their friendship. Ever since Ron and Hermione got together, he’d felt kind of neglected. He did have Draco, but their friendship was tentative at best.

Malfoy stood just outside the pitch, standing still and black against the green of the surrounding mountains. He was looking into the distance, but when he heard Harry’s footsteps, he turned to face him.

“You’re still here?” Harry asked, unlacing his outer robes with one hand.

“Friends wait for other friends,” Draco replied with an elegant shrug. “Besides, I have nothing better to do,” He added quickly.

“Right,” Harry said, turning his face away to hide a grin. He paused and dropped his broomstick on the ground to shed his outer Quidditch robes. “Merlin, it’s hot.”

“It’s freezing out here, Potter. What are you on about?”

“Flying makes me warm.” Harry draped the robes over his arm and continued walking. “You could’ve gone back to the castle if you’re cold.”

“I’m not cold.”

“Uh-huh.”

Draco made a face at his companion and crossed his arms in a gruff manner. Harry noticed that his shoulders were tense with cold, but he decided not to say anything.

As they passed through the doors, Draco suddenly looked back again at the landscape. A syrupy twilight began to fall over the forest-green mountains, the last of the day’s gold sunlight finally breaking through the clouds and pooling where shadows did not yet deign to fall. The Slytherin’s brow furrowed, and his lips moved slightly as if to speak.

“Something on your mind?”

Malfoy shrugged and did not reply for a moment, feigning nonchalance, but Harry could sense hesitance in the air around him. “Something’s always on my mind, Potter,” He said, facing him. The sky reflected in his gray eyes, turning them into orbs of gold melted with quicksilver. Mesmerized for a fraction of a second, Harry’s breath caught in his throat.

But the moment passed as soon as it came, and they trudged inside without another glance at each other.

Although the dim green light of the dungeons posed a stark difference to the warm colors of the Gryffindor common room, the fire burning cheerily in the hearth was just the same. Ron and Hermione, the latter snug in the former’s arms, sat on a loveseat as they reviewed an essay.

“See, I understand what you’re trying to say here, but remember: always connect your statements back to the thesis,” Hermione said to Ron. They were fully absorbed in their work, but when Harry cleared his throat, they both looked up. “Hello, Harry!” Hermione said brightly. “How’d tryouts go?

“I got in as Seeker by default , so I just helped Ginny out with picking players for the team.”

“That’s great!” Hermione said with a smile, but it faded as she noticed Malfoy. The Slytherin had only just melted out of the shadows behind Harry.

Ron scowled at Draco’s presence. “What are you doing here, Malfoy?”

“Am I not allowed to be in my own common room?”

“Both of you, calm down,” Hermione cut in. “Don’t have a row this late.”

“It’s seven, Hermione,” Harry started, but she shut him up with a look.

“No, Granger’s right,” Draco said haughtily. “I don’t belong here, anyway. See you tomorrow, Potter.”

With a deliberately dramatic sweep of his coat, Malfoy stormed away to the dorms. As soon as he left, Harry crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at his best friend.

“What?” Ron said defensively. “You’re telling me that snake actually watched you at tryouts?”

“He did, actually,” Harry said, “Because he’s my…friend. Anyway, what’s your problem? I thought you were okay with me talking to him.”

“Well, yeah, but I didn’t think you’d get close,” Ron said. “It’s weird, you hanging out so much with him and stuff. Harry,” he added, lowering his voice. “He was a Death Eater.”

“Not anymore!”

“Don’t you remember what Sirius told us? Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. Still applies when You-Know-Who died. And he still has the Dark Mark.”

“He doesn’t, actually,” Harry shot back. He was pacing back and forth on the carpet as they argued. Hermione was growing visibly more and more uncomfortable as they raised their voices, but a look of curiosity came over her face when Harry said that.

“How do you know that?” She asked slowly.

Harry realized his mistake and stopped pacing, caught like a deer in the beam of his friends’ gaze. “Er…intuition?”

Hermione chuckled and shook her head. “You’re a terrible liar, Harry. He got him to remove it for you, didn’t he?”

The Chosen One’s eyes widened slightly. “How did you…?”

“I’ve done a lot of reading on Voldemort,” Hermione did not linger on the wicked name, “And the intricacies of his followers. There were only a few pages on the Dark Mark. Not much is known about how it’s given, and I didn’t even know it could be taken away until I came across a few certain lines. Apparently, it’s a relatively easy incantation, but it requires a deep emotional connection between the bearer and the remover of the Mark.” She raised her eyebrows questioningly. “What have you and Malfoy been doing to make yourselves deeply emotionally connected?”

“Nothing!” Harry felt heat rising up his face, and he was grateful for the orange firelight. “I guess it comes from being enemies for seven years.”

“That sounds like a weak excuse, mate,” Ron said wryly.

“You think so?” Harry scowled. “What are you implying?”

Ron raised a hand in a gesture of surrender, the other shifting Hermione off his lap. “Nothing, really,” The redhead patted Harry on the shoulder and slipped into the dimness, towards their dorms. “I’m going to get some of my notes.

In his absence, Hermione looked up at her friend, scrutinizing him with an amused smile playing across her lips. Harry could practically see the brassy cogs turning in her head. Feeling observed, Harry said suddenly, “I’m going to bed.”

“Alright. Goodnight, Harry.”

“‘Night, Hermione.”

In the warm darkness of the dorms, Harry was able to get away from his friends’ questions. The only sound rippling through the silence was Draco’s breathing, which sounded slow and even. Though Harry doubted that the Slytherin would fall asleep that quickly, especially so early, he still kept quiet as he got dressed.

With a silken rustle of emerald sheets, Harry slipped into bed and took off his glasses, setting them on the nightstand. The night cradled him in its embrace, and he inched towards unconsciousness, hoping for no dreams but expecting nightmares. But sleep was a long time coming, his mind unable to keep off the grey-eyed boy only a few feet away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, like Heart of Stone, begins to draw a line in the sand between Harry's old and new friends. Happily, it also comes with a side of good ol' Quidditch.


	7. Hidden Trauma

Over the next month, Draco and Harry cautiously grew their friendship away from prying eyes. During classes, Harry stayed with Hermione and Ron, who grew tense Draco whenever he came close. Despite their limited time together, Harry found himself enjoying every minute of it. Slowly Draco was letting his shields come down, and Harry discovered that he liked the fascinating and intelligent person beneath. And Harry had to admit, it was nice to be around someone that could be biting and sarcastic since everyone else was nothing but sugary sweet to the Chosen One.

Every other night or so, Harry’s mind picked through what he had learned about Malfoy that day. _He likes green apples. His favorite color is black, but he writes with dark blue ink. The sound of wands tapping against desks bothers him._ The tidbits were just surface stuff, but Harry still pondered over them like a child over seashells.

Everything was new, delicate, and unexplored. Draco still kept an unyielding wall around his soul, but a small part of Harry yearned to pull it back, brick by brick.

The night after a Gryffindor and Ravenclaw Quidditch scrimmage, the Golden Trio sat clustered in the Slytherin common room. Ron and Harry played a game of wizard’s chess as Hermione pored over a book.

“Check,” Ron announced. “You’ve fallen right into my trap.”

“Damn,” Harry sighed, moving his queen with his wand. Even after all these years of playing Ron, the redhead still managed to crush him every time. “Well, there you are. She’s ripe for the taking.”

“Aha! Thanks for that,” Ron cackled, the red queen smashing off the white queen’s head with her throne. “Your turn,” He said triumphantly.

“Hermione,” Harry said slyly, in an attempt to stall his pieces’ inevitable demise, “That’s a rather thin book you’re reading.”

“Isn’t it?” Hermione enthused, turning it to show him the cover. “ _A Wizarding History of Gay Rights._ It’s brief but really fascinating.”

“What’s the subject matter for?” Ron said, brushing broken chess fragments off the board.

“Haven’t you heard about the Ministry of Magic considering legalizing same-sex marriage?” Hermione asked as if everyone in the wizarding world knew about it. “I’m just doing a bit of research, you know, to keep up. The Prophet talks a load of rubbish about what’s going on, so I’m getting information from more reliable sources.”

“What sort of rubbish?” Said Harry, interested.

“Oh, just a bunch of hate against gay people in general. Thinks they’re unnatural, strange, a bad influence on children, etcetera, etcetera.”

“What’s their problem?” Ron interjected. “It shouldn’t matter to them. People can love who they want.”

“I didn’t realize you changed your stance on this, Ron,” Hermione said, pleasantly surprised.

“I try to keep an open mind,” Ron shrugged. The two of them exchanged a loving look that made Harry slightly uncomfortable. “Let’s get back to it. Go on, Harry. Might as well get your defeat over with.”

After two more lost games and a tired Hermione drifting off to bed, Harry found himself yawning hugely.

“Not ready for m-more?” Ron stuttered as he started yawning as well. He squinted at the clock above the fireplace. “Oh. It’s past midnight. Although it’s Friday night, so we could play another game.”

“No, I ought to get to bed,” Harry said. “I still need to write that dissertation for Slughorn on the differences between…what was it again?”

“I only remember it was animal parts, but not which kinds,” Ron replied, stretching. “Hermione’ll remind us tomorrow.”

“Scales,” Came a soft voice from the darkness, making Ron jump. “Chinese and Japanese dragon scales.”

“Bloody hell,” Ron said grumpily, “No need to get all spooky like that…Oh. It’s you.”

Draco’s face emerged into the firelight, his hand gripping the top of a chair as if it was the only thing keeping him from falling. His pale eyes seemed shattered, like pieces of a broken mirror.

“Ron,” Harry said, his tone deadly serious, “Go to bed.” Something was terribly wrong. 

“You sound like my mother,” Ron grumbled, but he shuffled to the boys’ dormitory anyway.

Harry stepped closer to Draco, wanting to offer some comfort but having no idea how. “What’s up, Malfoy?” Harry said quietly.

Draco’s head nodded slowly, then shook his head. “I…” He closed his eyes tight, pressing the heel of his hand into his forehead.

“You can tell me,” Harry said, but knowing that he wouldn’t. No way Draco trusted him that much with…whatever was bothering him.

The Slytherin leaned over and buried his face in his arms. _Was he crying?_ Harry thought with a jolt. He’d only ever seen Malfoy cry once before, and that had ended in them dueling.

“Malfoy…” Harry reached out to him, but before he even made contact, Draco moved back as if Harry’s hand made of searing hot iron.

“Don’t touch me,” Draco said. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, and he turned his face away. “ _Leave_ , Potter. Please.”

Something had driven a crack between them. Harry felt like he was fourteen again, feeling Malfoy’s gaze burn with hatred at him every time they talked. But Harry couldn’t bear to go back to that. He never wanted it in the first place.

“Fine. I’ll leave you alone.”

Harry Potter left, wishing sincerely that he and Malfoy could genuinely start over, that they could be close enough friends to help each other out. Unfortunately, the years-long rift between them had left a scar on them both, and some scars never fade. _I know that better than anyone,_ Harry thought bitterly, his hand drifting up to the lightning-shaped mark on his forehead. _But I wish I didn’t._

• • •

“First of all, I want to thank you guys for dropping a free period to help us out,” Professor Dahlia said from the center of the classroom. Desks had been stacked neatly against the wall to provide an open space. On one side stood the thirteen eighth years; on the other, a group of third years that eyed the older students warily.

Their professor was dressed in Muggle clothes beneath a witch’s robe as usual. Today, her attire consisted of a rainbow-striped turtleneck and a denim midi skirt, making her appear just as young as the eighteen-year-olds. “I understand Professor Remus Lupin taught you in your third year, correct? Talented man, I’ve heard. Now,” She pointed her wand at a wardrobe which rattled threateningly, “Who can tell me what’s in there? Yes, Wallace?”

“That’s a boggart, that is, miss,” Said a serious, bespectacled boy with a heavy Irish accent.

“Right you are, Wallace. One point to Hufflepuff.”

The boy beamed, and Harry smiled at the familiar scene. He missed those more carefree days, before Voldemort’s return when Remus and Tonks and Sirius were alive…Harry cleared his throat and ran an absent hand through his untidy black hair. No. He had done his mourning.

“Boggarts are shapeshifters who turn into what we fear most. Pesky but harmless creatures if you know how to deal with them. So how does one get rid of a boggart? That’s what these guys are going to show us, thanks to what Professor Lupin taught them.” Professor Dahlia’s expression grew serious. “Be warned. The wizarding world has been exposed to many horrors these past few years; some of those horrors are likely to be somebody’s greatest fears. If any of you are sensitive to blood, dead bodies, or the sight of You-Know-Who himself, feel free to leave.”

The third years looked queasy at this prospect, but they put on their brave faces and nodded.

“A bit hardcore for kids,” Ron muttered to Hermione and Harry, but then they all remembered what they dealt with in their third year.

“Let’s get started, then, shall we? Draco?” Professor Dahlia beckoned at Malfoy, who stood apart from everyone else. He looked up, wild-eyed. Harry felt concern rise at Draco’s tired and nervous appearance; the Slytherin had made himself scarce as much as possible the past few days, and Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that something in him had snapped. “You’ve been quiet lately; now’s your chance to participate. Would you like to start?”

Draco seemed as if the last thing he wanted to do was participate, but he swallowed and pulled out his wand.

“Face your fears,” Professor Dahlia said dramatically. She flicked her wand at the wardrobe, and the door began to creak open.

Wispy, black smoke poured out of the fixture, spilling onto the floor. A few of the third years gasped in anticipation.

A slim, black leather boot stepped onto the floor. Harry couldn’t yet tell who it was, but he noticed Draco’s eyes widening in utter terror. A cold, drawling voice preceded the figure, who was dressed in black. There were a few hushed murmurs from the eighth years who recognized him. “Oh, Draco,” Hermione muttered pityingly.

“You…are a disappointment,” said Lucius Malfoy. The end of his cane landed on the wooden floor with an ominous clunk. “I can’t bear to look at you.” And yet he did, his stare forcing down the trip of Draco’s wand.

Professor Dahlia looked back and forth between the boggart and her student, realizing their resemblance. She raised her wand as a safeguard. 

“You thought I wouldn’t find out about your dirty little secret?” The pseudo-Lucius whipped out his wand threateningly. Draco stepped backward, fear sharp on his face. “My own son, a filthy-”

“ _Riddikulus!_ ” Dahlia shouted at the boggart. Out of nowhere, a bucket of water dropped onto the creature’s head, sopping his black clothes and covering his head. The third years giggled delightedly, but the damage had already been done. Draco turned and fled, shielding his face from his classmates.

“Someone check on him,” Professor Dahlia commanded, but Harry was already running.

• • •

Footsteps echoed loudly through the third-floor corridor as Harry dashed to the boys’ bathroom. Slowing down at the entrance, Harry pulled out his wand, unsure if Draco would attack him or not. The sound of muffled crying and running water made Harry hesitate, but curiosity and sympathy pushed him forward.

Draco had two hands gripped on either side of the center sink, wand clutched in his right. All around him, the other faucets were running with full force, nearly to the point of overflow. At the sound of Harry’s footsteps on the tile, Draco whirled around and lifted his weapon. Surprise, then guilt, crossed his face, and he lowered his hand. The wand dropped with a clatter, and all at once, the faucets switched off.

“Don’t ask what’s wrong,” Draco said, his voice breaking as Harry approached. “You…you wouldn’t get it.”

“You’d be surprised,” Harry said quietly. After a moment of uncertainty, he placed both hands on Draco’s shoulders, causing the Slytherin to look up in surprise.

“Why should you care?” Draco replied. “I don’t deserve your attention.”

“Look, I don’t know what happened between you and your father, but I know that _no one_ deserves a reason to be afraid of their family.” Harry said firmly. Draco’s fear of his own father bitterly reminded him of the Dursleys’ abuse.

Draco’s eyes, red-rimmed and exhausted, seemed to plead for help. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. Instead, a sigh of relief escaped his lips as he fell forward into Harry’s arms.

A shock ran through Harry’s body at the feeling of being in Draco’s embrace - _Draco Malfoy_ , of all people. But seemingly of their own volition, Harry’s arms encircled the other’s shoulders as if he’d done it a thousand times. Time slowed as the moment surrounded them both. There was something so comforting about feeling another’s heart thudding so close to his own.

Pearly tears soaked into black robes as Draco buried his face into the other young man’s shoulder, but Harry didn’t mind. They stayed like that for a long time, long enough for the drops of water on the floor to evaporate.

It was only when Draco pulled back slightly that Harry opened his eyes and was jolted back into the present. His breath warm against Harry’s ear, Draco whispered words so quietly that not even ghosts would overhear.

_Thank you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although this chapter is a bit shorter, it does contain significant plot bits that focus mainly on the characters and their relationships. Draco and Harry sort of have their first "falling-out", and though it is a minor one, their making up is ultimately what is important about this chapter. There is something I would like to make note of going forward: this fanfiction is obviously based on the Harry Potter books, but does take inspiration and some quotes from the movies. As you may have noticed, characters like Grawp or Winky have not been mentioned. Like the movies, the universe of this fanfiction is more simplified, and altered to my discretion for the story. I will try to keep the personalities and actions of the characters true to the way JKR wrote them, but there will be mistakes. I am human, after all :) A similar disclaimer applies for the formatting of the fanfiction itself.


	8. Beyond These Treasured Walls

Draco never mentioned their hug in the bathroom again, but Harry wasn’t surprised. No doubt, Malfoy felt embarrassed about taking off his haughty, devil-may-care mask. But Harry noticed the change in the Slytherin’s demeanor; though he wasn’t quite as friendly towards Harry as before, he seemed a lot calmer and overall happier. 

Life in other aspects trundled along as usual. Classes with Professor Dahlia remained unconventional, Ron continued to beat Harry senselessly in chess, and Hagrid wrote Harry regularly about his new job with Charlie Weasley in Romania. The rift between Ginny and Harry had healed completely, to his utter relief. It was just as well since their first official Quidditch match against Slytherin loomed closer and closer. 

Thus, Friday morning found Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny eating breakfast after most everyone else since the older students’ classes started later. Ron dug into the spread with his usual gusto, Harry and Ginny chatted over toast and jam, and Hermione perused a thick book, leaving her oatmeal virtually untouched. 

“Take a look at this,” Hermione said suddenly. The other three paused their conversations and peered over obligingly. “It’s the flag Professor Dahlia has in front of her desk, next to the one for Thunderbird.”

In glossy detail, the page pictured three versions of a striped flag, the latest having the colors red, orange, yellow, green, royal blue, and purple, in descending order. 

“ _England’s Minority Groups and Their Discrimination,_ ” Ron lifted up the cover and read the title. “Hermione, is this a book about civil rights? I didn’t know the library had those.” 

“Didn’t know you went to the library, Ronald,” Ginny teased, and her brother made a face at her. 

“Chapter four is about LGBT people. That is, lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender. Apparently, they’ve existed for centuries, but only now are they finally beginning to be considered as more than sub-human in wizarding legislature.” Hermione said all this very fast.

“Harsh,” Harry remarked, and she nodded emphatically. 

“Muggles don’t like them, either,” Hermione continued. “I think I might write my extended essay on LGBT history. For Muggle Studies.”

“Merlin’s beard, Hermione,” Ron said, “Those essays aren’t due for months.” 

“Yes, well, it’s always good to get a head start, isn’t it?” Hermione stood up and closed her book with a resolute slam. “I think I’ll have a chat with Professor Dahlia. She doesn’t have a class now, does she?” Without waiting for an answer, she strode off. Deciding they didn’t have a better way to fill up their morning, the other three followed. 

Dahlia Balengchit seemed quite bewildered to find a knowledge-thirsty Hermione, trailed by a small entourage, barge into her classroom during their free period. But, as the professor was almost always game for anything, and needed a distraction from grading papers, she put down her quill and looked up expectantly. 

“Good morning, Hermione,” She said casually as if greeting a friend. “Something I can help you with?” 

“Professor Dahlia,” Hermione said, getting straight to the point. “I couldn’t help but notice you have a gay pride flag, and I am researching LGBT history for an essay. Are you a lesbian?” 

“Uh…” Dahlia leaned over to peer around Hermione, giving her friends a curious look. “Yep. Indeed I am. What are you all doing here?”

“Amusement, miss,” Ginny said honestly. 

Professor Dahlia nodded, tucking a lock of blue hair behind her ear. “Coolio. Also, not to impose on your language, but ‘lesbian’ is an adjective, not a noun. Why do you ask?” 

“Well, I was wondering if you could educate me a bit on what it means to be part of the LGBT community. What kind of discrimination do you face on a daily basis? Are there differences between the treatment of LGBT people in the Muggle and Wizarding Worlds? Or in the United Kingdom versus America? What about Hogwarts versus everywhere else?” 

Dahlia’s eyebrows had risen incrementally throughout Hermione’s speech. In the silence that followed, she gave a loud, mirthful laugh. “Oh, you young ones! So much energy. And so many questions. Hermione, dear,” She said spiritedly, “I am _thrilled_ that you came to me. Really, I am. However, there’s not much time until my next class, especially not to go into detail about this complicated topic. See me after class today, will you? And we can set up an appointment to chat.” 

Hermione practically glowed. “That sounds great, professor. Thank you.” She turned away from the professor’s desk, nearly skipping. 

“I’ve never seen you so excited about something,” Ron said happily, taking her hand. Harry moved to follow his friends. 

“Wait a moment, Harry,” Professor Dahlia said, waiting for the other three to leave before continuing. She scrutinized Harry with deep brown eyes, giving him the x-ray feeling that Dumbledore’s stare often had. “You are…extraordinarily compassionate towards Draco Malfoy.” 

Harry gave her a curious look. “Professor?” 

Professor Dahlia shuffled her papers into a stack, stood up, and moved to the front of her desk. Leaning against the front of it, she crossed her arms. “You know it as well as I do; that boy comes from bad blood. My family living in England, hell, most _all_ old wizarding families have had their run-ins with the Malfoys. And everyone knows the things Draco has done. The crimes he’s committed as a Death Eater.” 

She paused, and the silence that followed was heavy. Harry watched dust motes dance in the late morning sunlight, anger pre-emptively rising in his stomach. If she started talking badly about Draco, as everyone else had done…

“But you, unlike so many others, show him mercy. _Deserved_ mercy, in my opinion. But certainly not an easy thing to offer. So why do you?” 

“People have died for me,” Harry said, finally meeting her eyes. “More than I can bear to name. This is how I repay them, I suppose. By giving Draco what no one else will.” 

“Which is what, exactly?” 

The answer resounded in his blood. “Love.” 

A satisfied smile drew itself across Professor Dahlia’s face. “You are going places, Harry Potter,” She proclaimed, walking back to her desk and settling herself down. “My greatest hope is that, as a teacher, I can send you to the right ones. Have a good rest of your day.” 

“Thanks, Professor. You too.”

• • •

Emerald curtains hung forlornly around an empty, neatly made bed. Harry stared at it as he strapped on his Quidditch gear, wondering where its occupant had gone. 

After Harry’s conversation with Professor Dahlia a few days ago, Draco Malfoy had vanished from the halls of Hogwarts. At first, Harry thought Draco was avoiding him specifically, but Harry had asked Pansy if the other Slytherins had seen him, and she admitted they hadn’t. Even more perplexing, Draco had taken his trunks but left most of his possessions. Was he traveling? Had he fled? 

“Oi!” Ginny yelled to Harry, who walked towards the Quidditch pitch, entirely lost in thought. “Where’s your broomstick?” 

“My…” Harry looked around and realized he was empty-handed, save for his trusty wand. “Oh, bother. _Accio Nimbus!_ ” 

A few moments later, the broomstick came zooming from the direction of the castle. Harry caught it deftly with one hand and mounted it, flying towards Ginny and the rest of the flyers, who had already begun tossing the Quaffle back and forth. 

“Show-off,” Ginny grinned, then sharply blew twice through a whistle hanging around her neck. “Reverse directions!” She called out. 

Harry joined the team in their exercise, passing the Quaffle in a circle and throwing it back and forth whenever Ginny shouted commands. She let the backups for the team join them for practice as well, a strategy Harry found to be both atypical and effective. 

“Break for scrimmage,” Ginny announced. “Sort out your sides. Fiona, Harry, gloves on for the Snitch.” 

Fiona Chang, Cho’s sister in second year, was a prospective Seeker Ginny had managed to convince to train alongside Harry. Tiny, narrow-shouldered, and speedy, Fiona had proved her mettle not long after joining practices. 

The two Seekers and their scrimmage teams hovered on either side of the field. With a few expert waves of her wand, Ginny caused the Bludgers and the Quaffle to float in the center, letting the Snitch flit freely around the pitch. 

“One, two, three…” Ginny lowered her wand with a flourish and blew her whistle loudly. The Quaffle dropped, caught immediately by Willow Amara. The Bludgers began their paths of destruction. Harry and Fiona rose above the chaos, both scanning the air for a glint of gold. 

Light gray fog swirled thickly below, rising slowly. Condensation began to collect on Harry’s glasses, and he muttered a spell to clear them. Fiona’s black eyes squinted through the sky, and she flew forward purposefully. Harry trailed carefully after her in case she had spotted the Snitch, but it turned out to be a false alarm, and he continued scanning their surroundings. 

There was a flash of bloodred in the fog. 

Harry inhaled sharply and blinked hard. But the color did not appear again.

One thing Harry knew for sure: so close to the ground, at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, that was not a Quidditch robe he just saw. Ignoring Ginny’s shouts, he flew straight down, branches tugging at his limbs as he glided through the treetops and landed. 

No animals made so much as a peep, the fog thinning as Harry walked deeper into the forest. He raised his wand, turning slowly in a circle and trying to slow his breathing. 

“Who’s there?” He said, voice shaking. 

A twig snapped. 

Harry whirled around, but the forest remained tight-lipped. A breeze blew through the trees, causing the skeletons of autumn leaves to skitter across the ground. Harry strained his ears; was that breathing he heard?

“ _Homenum Revelio_ ,” Harry intoned, sending the spell searching for anyone around. But either there was no one, or the culprit knew how to cover their presence. 

“HARRY POTTER,” Ginny’s amplified voice boomed from the Quidditch pitch. “FIONA HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH. WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?” 

Cursing under his breath, Harry mounted his broomstick and rose through the trees, unable to shake the feeling of eyes on the back of his neck. 

• • •

“Harry, put your wand down.” 

Smoke issued from the tip of Harry’s wand in a thin, hot stream, wearing a hole in the carpet. He jumped out of his thoughts, noticed his accidental magic, and put the offending weapon down. “Sorry.” 

Ginny rubbed his shoulder reassuringly, just like she used to. She, Hermione, and Ron were gathered tightly in the Gryffindor common room. The warmth, the orange-and-gold decorations, and the familiar faces of seventh years brought Harry some comfort, but not much. The chill of the fog and the invisible enemy seeped into his bones, making him shiver even as he wore the sweater Mrs. Weasley knitted for him. 

“What exactly did you see?” Hermione asked, sitting cross-legged on the carpet in front of him. 

“It was only for an instant. Red cloth, someone’s robes, I guess. It wasn’t exactly the shade of the Gryffindor colors, though. More like a deep ruby.” 

Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully. “Red robes…Traditionally worn by east Asian wizards, the same way Europeans wear black and north Africans wear yellow.” 

“So, not Death Eaters,” Ron concluded. 

“Most likely not,” Hermione agreed, “But that’s not to say they’re not supporters of You-Know-Who. Here for vengeance.” She gave Harry a concerned look. “Here for you.” 

“Thanks, that makes me feel loads better.” 

“We’ll be there if anything happens,” Ginny said fiercely. “We won’t let anyone hurt you.” 

Harry smiled as both Hermione and Ron nodded their assent. He was eternally grateful for their loyalty; he only hoped that it wouldn’t cause them to meet an early end. 

_Boom._ A massive explosion vibrated through the walls. 

The common room grew silent. A pair of fourth years brought their Weasley’s Wheezes firecracker to the floor, listening intently. 

_Boom._ Closer. The familiar noise of snapping and popping began faintly: the sound of dueling. 

A young girl screamed, and panic ensued. Some students rushed for the window, while others ran for their dormitories. Younger kids looked wildly around, tugging at the sleeves of their peers in confusion. Older students who had seen battle before either pulled out their wands or shivered in apprehension. 

“Let’s go,” Harry said immediately, heading for the door. 

“Harry, the castle is safest-” Hermione began, reaching for him, but Harry brushed her off. 

“Are you coming with me or not?” He asked. 

Hermione’s expression hardened, and she nodded. 

The four wizards and witches took the stairs from Gryffindor Tower two at a time, breathing hard as they rushed out into Hogwarts’s front courtyard. The cloudless, velvet night was lit up by sparks of magic; professors Dahlia, Flitwick, and McGonagall were furiously dueling with three foes as other staff and assorted students looked on. 

“There’s your red robes, Harry,” Ginny pronounced as the light of the spells revealed the perpetrators. 

Three wizards swathed in crimson fought with undeniable agility and skill against the Hogwarts defenders. They all wore intricately carved wooden masks of subtly Oriental design; the rabbit-masked wizard dueled Flitwick, and the dog-masked one fought Dahlia. The sorcerer who appeared to be the ringleader wore a hog mask while aggressively dueling the headmistress. 

“They’re not aiming to kill,” Hermione whispered. The colors of the spells were mostly red and blue, and the absence of green showed that she was correct. “How’d they get past the defenses?” 

The professors pushed back the intruders, Professor Dahlia managing to disarm her opponent. “Who are you?” She shouted, then tried again in a language Harry barely recognized. 

“Chinese,” Hermione murmured to her friends. 

Dahlia tried once more in a language Hermione thought was Vietnamese or something similar. This time, all three wizards jerked their heads in recognition. The dog-masked one reached slowly for their dropped wand. 

Harry moved into the light, aiming his wand at the fighter. “Stay back!” Dahlia hissed. Up close, Harry could see the eyes of the opponent, which landed on him, then widened in fear. 

“ _Satru hæng kwam mud!_ ” They shouted to their companions. Swift as a lightning bolt, the other two abandoned their fights and clutched at the robes of the dog-masked wizard, all three Disapparating in a shower of gold sparks. 

“Professor Dahlia!” Headmistress McGonagall called immediately. “You understood that language?” 

“It was Thai,” Dahlia confirmed. “They said, ‘the enemy of the Dark One,’ which is how they refer to Voldemort. Even in Asia, his reign of terror was famous. His enemy-”

“Me,” Harry said. The three professors looked at him seriously. “They’re afraid of me?” 

“Or looking for you, Potter,” McGonagall said gravely. “Professor Dahlia, you have connections in Thailand. Provide a description of the perpetrators to the magical offices there. Perhaps they will know why their wizards are attacking schools so far from home.” 

Professor Dahlia inclined her head. “Right away, Headmistress.”

“Thank you. Back to your houses, everyone! It’s past curfew,” Professor McGonagall announced to the surrounding students, who dispersed obediently. Ginny said her goodbyes to her friends and left for Gryffindor Tower. 

“Harry, Hermione, Ron,” Professor Dahlia said before the Golden Trio could leave. “Did those people seem familiar to you? Anyone you may have run into during your hunt for Voldemort’s Horcruxes?” 

“We didn’t go as far as Thailand,” Hermione said, then gave their teacher a curious look. “How did you know about the Horcruxes?” 

Dahlia grinned impishly. “Albus Dumbledore’s portrait told me after my interview. While I’ve got you here, Harry, do you know Draco’s whereabouts?” 

Harry shook his head. “I thought you might know, Professor. Or Professor Slughorn would know, at least.” 

“Horace is as misinformed about Draco as I am, Harry,” Professor Dahlia said regrettably. “Wherever Draco was heading, he covered his tracks well. You three may go.” 

The three young wizards, adrenaline still coursing through their veins, left uneasily. Harry slid his wand back into his pocket, worried yet knowing that they were safe for the time being. 

But if this new enemy was anything like the old one, he thought bitterly, safety would not last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story's antagonist is introduced in this chapter. While this story will mostly focus on inner conflict between its main characters, these new antagonists will play a pivotal role in the next installment. There's also more Professor Dahlia scenes - she's my favorite OC so far :)


	9. Hot & Cold

On Monday, the students of Hogwarts confined themselves to the indoor campus as the teachers reinforced the castle’s defenses, casting spells to more effectively hide and protect them. Harry paced back and forth in the Slytherin common room, worrying equally about his friends outside and inside the castle. The black-stone necklace hung cold around his neck; previously, he wore it off-and-on, but now he elected to keep it firmly around his neck in case of another attack.

“The Hogsmeade trip on Friday has been postponed,” Hermione sighed after a glance at the Slytherin house bulletin. “I guess we’ll have to wait a bit before we can go out to The Three Broomsticks, Ron.” 

“Go out? What, on a date?” Ron looked up from the chess game he was playing against himself. 

“Yes,” Hermione replied, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. “Um, if that’s all right with you, Harry? Just the two of us?” 

“That’s fine,” Harry said, but he was barely listening. He stopped his pacing to gaze through an enchanted window that showed the grounds above the lake. Outside, freezing sleet poured down in unforgiving sheets. Doubtless, the strange, masked wizards wouldn’t attack in this weather. They must have retreated. Or maybe they were close, biding their time…Harry strained to peer through the heavy precipitation for a bit of red, but he couldn’t see a thing. 

“ _Harry_ ,” Hermione said in a tone that made it clear it wasn’t the first time she had called his name. “Ron asked, what’s your favorite color?” 

“Oh. Er…” Harry pondered, caught off guard by such a standard, almost menial question. He supposed his favorite color used to be red, but recent events had lowered its status. “Ice blue, I suppose.”

“Ooh, pretty. I like lilac. Ron?” 

“Chudley Cannon orange, of course.” 

The creaking of the dungeons’ door echoed throughout the stone-lined common room. The trio’s conversation paused as they listened to someone’s footsteps, accompanied by the sound of water dripping on the floor. 

“Someone from outside,” Hermione said, her voice hushed. 

“Slughorn, maybe?” Ron suggested hopefully, but his expression soured when Draco Malfoy came into view. 

The Slytherin was drenched from head to toe, rain streaming from his black clothes onto the floor. He froze when he saw the three Gryffindors, who were the only ones in the room. “Shouldn’t you all be in class?” He said nervously.

“Classes got canceled. Where have you been?” Ron asked suspiciously. 

In response, Draco left the room quickly, heading for the dorms while shedding his wet overcoat. 

_Go on,_ Hermione mouthed to Harry. He shook his head at her, but she gave him a threatening look, and he relented. 

Inside the dormitory, Draco had magically lit the central heating system, stretching his cold hands towards the bright green flames. At the sight of Harry entering, he scowled and placed his hands on his knees. 

“What happened?” Harry questioned, sitting next to Draco on his bed. The blond scooted a few inches away from him, keeping his distance. 

“Nothing that’s any of your business,” Draco replied, letting his wet hair partially cover his face. Harry’s gaze drifted to his bottom lip, which was busted open. 

“Malfoy, you’re hurt.”

“A bit. So?” Draco faced him in what was supposed to be a haughty manner, but the wincing ruined the effect. Up close, Harry could see that he had a black eye, a scratch along his cheek, and what appeared to be a broken nose. 

“Holy hell, Draco,” Harry tutted, taking out his wand. Draco flinched at the sight of it. “Calm down, I’m trying to help. Hold still.” He pointed it at Draco’s face and flicked his wand sharply. “ _Episkey_.” 

With a snap, the bone jolted back into place. Draco grimaced, then reached up and felt his nose, which had straightened out completely. “Thanks,” he said reluctantly. 

“You need to go see Madam Pomfrey,” Harry fussed, “Or at least put some-”

“Murtlap essence, I know,” Draco finished. “Merlin, Potter, you sound like someone’s mother. I’ve had my fair share of injuries. This isn’t my first run-in with…” He stopped short, guilt flitting over his face. 

A feeling of dread slid over Harry like a slimy blanket. “With who?” Silence. “With _who_ , Malfoy?” Draco slumped over, putting his head in his hands. “Death Eaters?” Draco’s shoulders began to shake; at first, Harry thought he was crying again, but when the Slytherin spoke, he realized it was from fear. 

“ _They knew I was coming_ ,” Draco whispered so quietly, Harry had to lean closer to hear him. “He _was there. My mother…I don’t know where she is. They wouldn’t tell me. They didn’t say a word._ ”

Harry pieced together the scene in his mind as best he could. Malfoy Manor, run-down and seething with the remnants of Voldemort’s followers. Lucius, even more terrifying than his boggart. And what others were left…Avery? Nott? Snatchers, clinging to fragments of the Dark wizards’ power? 

Slowly, Draco’s torso uncoiled, and he slipped on his mask of indifference and composure. “I suggest we stop having these personal conversations, Potter,” Draco said in an even and dangerous tone. “You can’t tell anyone any of this. If _they_ find out I told you anything, they will hunt me. They will hunt us both.” He made intense eye-contact with his former enemy. With a start, Harry realized that the ice blue he had come up with as his favorite color was the precise shade that ringed Draco’s inner irises. “Do you understand?” 

_No,_ Harry thought, _I don’t understand your mysteriousness and sudden shifts of tone, and I wish you’d be more honest with me because sometimes it doesn’t seem like you trust me as a friend, and how can I trust you if you don’t return the favor?_ What he said instead was, “Yes.”

• • •

To Hermione and Ron’s relief, the Hogsmeade trip was rescheduled for two weeks later. On the day of, they were giddier than Harry had ever seen them, holding hands and leaning into each other with adorable warmth. 

“Are you sure you want to stay here, Harry?” Hermione asked as she wrapped herself up in a knitted scarf. “We could meet up at Honeydukes later if you like?” 

“I’m not in the mood, thanks,” Harry said honestly. He had no desire to hang out with his love-stricken friends at that particular moment. Though he would never admit it, sometimes he just needed a break from them. “I’m going to finish Slughorn’s reading.” 

“Okay. Bye, then.” 

The dungeon door slammed behind Hermione and Ron, sending cold echoes throughout the common room. Amber coals had begun to die down in the brazier, making Harry shiver. He patted his pocket for his wand to relight it, then remembered he’d left it at the dorm. 

The necklace around Harry’s neck grew warm as he entered the dorm, and he was entirely unsurprised to find Draco lounging on his bed, his face buried in his Potions textbook. 

“Why are you mad at me, Malfoy?” Harry asked, finding his wand in the pocket of his spare robe. 

Draco didn’t answer right away, which Harry found annoying. The blond lazily turned a page, refusing to look at Harry as he spoke. “I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about.” 

“I’m wearing your necklace.” 

Malfoy gave a heavy sigh and lowered his book. His pale face, which had healed entirely, created a stark contrast on the emerald velvet backdrop. Harry became very conscious of how handsome Draco’s profile was, which infuriated him even further. 

“To be perfectly honest, Potter, I’ve been holding a general feeling of animosity towards everyone this past couple of weeks. You’re not special.” 

Harry raised an eyebrow at that, but he didn’t wish to start a row. On a whim, he said, “Fancy taking a walk through Hogsmeade?” 

Draco only scowled. 

“Fine. Merlin’s beard, Malfoy.” Harry grabbed his rolled-up Invisibility Cloak, resolving to go to Hogsmeade by himself anyway. _I could use the fresh air._

Snow dusted the ground like powdered sugar, and Harry took care to walk only where there were already footprints. When he saw the Whomping Willow, Harry changed his course to walk towards it, recklessly thinking that the quiet of the Shrieking Shack would help him to calm down. 

The Willow’s branches lashed at Harry, tugging at his cloak. “ _Immobulus,_ ” He muttered and climbed down through the hole at its base. 

When he emerged on the other side of the passage, Harry wondered why such a terrible idea had come to him in the first place. His frustration with Draco had faded, and with its absence came an instinctual fear. The Shrieking Shack was as spooky as ever, old beams creaking with every gust of the November wind. A rust-colored splatter lingered on one wall, and Harry’s knees started to shake. He could almost hear a high, cold voice, hear a snake slithering along the floor…

_Kill, Nagini._ Voldemort’s hiss in Harry’s ear.

Laughter suddenly drifted towards Harry from outside, and he was jolted out of reliving a nightmare. Bursting forth from the Shack into the freshly fallen snow, Harry took deep, gulping breaths. A few hundred meters away, Ginny and Luna were giggling as the former sprinkled snow over the latter’s blonde hair. 

Relieved to see them, Harry reached to pull off his Cloak, but curiosity stayed his hand. The pair of girls seemed to be acting strangely intimate with each other.

“You are absolutely _ridiculous_ , darling,” Luna chirped, then leaned forward and kissed Ginny straight on the lips, as naturally as breathing. 

Harry’s heart stopped in shock. He slid the Cloak off his head. 

Ginny saw him first, her eyes widening. She quickly pulled away from Luna. “Harry!” She said, guilt and surprise evident in her expression. “Were you spying?” 

“No, I just got here,” Harry said, his head spinning. “Are you…” He couldn’t even fathom what he had just seen. Thanks to Hermione, he had come to terms with the fact that two girls or two guys being together was perfectly normal. But his ex-girlfriend, sweet Ginny, who kissed him first, had been swept away by another woman? The idea did not repulse him, but it was so bizarre he had trouble coming up with a sentence to voice. “Are you two dating?” 

“Um…” Ginny gave Luna a glance, and an affectionate smile crept across her face. “Yeah. We are. For about…how long has it been?” 

“A month, I think,” Luna replied casually as if someone had asked her how far away the exams were. 

“That’s…That’s great. I’m really happy for you guys,” Harry said. He wanted the words to be sincere, but they rang hollow even in his own ears. Ginny didn’t notice the tone, but Luna definitely did. _Never miss a thing, Ravenclaws,_ Harry thought bitterly. 

“Ginny, I think Harry and I need to talk for a bit,” Luna said agreeably. 

“Okay. Yeah, sure. I’ll see you later,” Ginny walked off, her boots making quiet squelching sounds in the thinly-layered snow. 

Luna drifted towards a large rock. With a twirl of her wand, she transfigured it into a carved stone bench. It was straightforward but lovely magic, and Harry couldn’t help but be impressed by it. 

“Have a seat, Harry,” The Ravenclaw said in a pleasant but commanding tone. Harry did so, folding the Invisibility Cloak in his lap. “I know this must feel quite new to you,” Luna said, sitting next to him. “And it might be hard, seeing your former girlfriend with someone else.” 

“No…It’s…Really, it’s okay,” Harry said sincerely. He was steadily coming to terms with their new relationship, though it still stung. Mostly, he hoped…

“Harry, Ginny is lesbian,” Luna said, and his heart sunk towards the frozen ground. “I figured you ought to know.” 

Harry nodded, looking down at his feet. To his dismay, hot tears began to form in his eyes. He always had a feeling that something wasn’t right between him and Ginny, but only now did he have a label to put on it. In the beginning, she seemed passionate and lovestruck, but near the end of their relationship, Harry noticed her drifting away. Her dissatisfaction, her unwillingness to do anything past kissing, and cuddling. He thought he just wasn’t her type, but he wasn’t right at all, from the start. 

“She didn’t love me, then,” Harry said thickly. 

Luna shook her head, empathetically. “No, she did. _Really_ did. That was the most she ever felt for one person. Ginny didn’t know that it was supposed to be more until she started exploring her sexuality. I helped her through it, to realize that what she felt for girls was what she desperately wanted to feel for you.” After Harry didn’t reply, Luna pressed, “Ginny loves you, Harry Potter. It’s just that the love she feels for you is not the kind you’re looking for.” 

Harry nodded. It felt like his world was collapsing around him, but he appreciated Luna doing her best to keep it standing. “I’m glad she’s found you. But…it hurts.” 

His friend leaned towards him and gathered him in her arms. Harry gratefully returned the embrace, pulling away after a minute. “You’ll be okay,” Luna promised, and Harry started to believe it. 

“So…are you lesbian, too?” Harry asked cautiously. 

Luna shrugged. “I have no idea. All I know is that I’ve only ever had a crush on three people: Neville, you, and Ginny.” 

Harry was flattered. “You fancied me?” 

“Don’t be so surprised. You’re quite handsome, actually. Kind and smart. And extraordinarily compassionate.” 

“That’s very sweet of you to say, Luna. Thank you.” 

“You are most welcome,” Luna stood up and offered him her hand. “Let’s go look for Ginny, shall we? I’d love to have some Honeydukes.” 

• • •

A brassy clanging resonated through the rain, followed immediately by the indistinct voice of an announcer. Harry added the score to the tally he’d been keeping in his head: 120 points, which likely meant one team was very ahead. _It better be Gryffindor,_ Harry thought, _I can barely see the Quaffle, let alone the Snitch._

The weekend after the Hogsmeade trip, Gryffindor and Slytherin had their first match together - in a pouring storm. There wasn’t any lightning, but its absence wasn’t noticed thanks to the wind, which blew everyone’s brooms every which way.

Despite the waterproofing spell on his goggles (and glasses), Harry had to squint through the rain so he could dodge zooming players at the last possible second. The powerful gales, combined with the icy deluge, would have chilled Harry to the bone had it not been for the necklace. Surrounded by ill-meaning Slytherin opponents, the stone glowed with a steady heat that was trapped within Harry’s tightly laced Quidditch robes.

Another clang. Harry’s broom had been unwillingly blown close enough to the Slytherin goal that he could see a whip of a fiery red ponytail. Ginny’s goal. The rain began to slow, but the wind picked up, and Harry let himself be dragged through its current, searching as much as he could for the elusive Snitch. 

Eyes darting around the barely visible arena, Harry bumped right into a green-cloaked player. “Watch it, Potter!” Draco shouted. A shiver of irritation ran through Harry, and he feigned deafness, pointing to his ear and shaking his head. “I know you can hear me, you-”

A rogue Bludger suddenly whooshed past Draco’s head, and he jerked his broom reflexively. Draco’s side was shoved into Harry’s torso, and the Chosen One was so caught off guard by the contact he nearly forgot he was supposed to be mad at his friend. “Watch it yourself, Malfoy,” Harry managed. Draco only narrowed his eyes and flew off through the rain. Cursing his own hesitation, Harry zoomed off in the opposite direction. _Stay focused._

Nearly half an hour later, the rain had finally slowed to a drizzle. Daylight broke innocently through the clouds; the sky pretended nothing had happened, that the ferocious November storm had been a fluke. The game continued with a renewed vigor, and it wasn’t long before another clang resounded through the pitch. 

“And that’s another goal for Slytherin, by captain Rodney Stone!” A small Hufflepuff boy announced, his voice magnified. “Making the score fifty to one hundred ten, Slytherin.” The green-clothed side of the stands rumbled with applause, while the red side shouted furious encouragement. 

“Damn,” Harry muttered under his breath. A few feet away, Ginny did her best to look determined, but Harry knew her well enough to realize that Slytherin’s lead was psyching her out. “Come on, you can do this,” Harry said to himself, but to her in spirit.

Suddenly, a flash of gold caught his eye. Harry’s vision narrowed in on the Snitch. None the worse for the storm, the tiny ball fluttered gaily near the ground. Harry quickly glanced back up across the field, where Draco hovered as he scanned the pitch. Harry wanted to be sneaky but didn’t think he’d get another chance to catch the Snitch, so he dipped his Nimbus forward and sped towards the ball. 

As if sensing the Seeker’s intent, the golden sphere gave a whirr of surprise and flew upward, making Harry abruptly jerk his broom. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Draco’s blond head turn, then his figure moving quickly towards him. 

The Snitch swerved right, zigzagging wildly towards the center of the pitch. Chasers weaved gracefully around Harry as he closely followed the ball’s path. Draco had already begun to catch up; Harry heard the flap of his cloak and simultaneously felt the necklace warm up by a few degrees. Right hand drifting outward, Harry did his best to ignore the Slytherin, who was nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with his rival. 

“Don’t!” Someone shouted. From far above the Seekers came the familiar thunk of a Bludger hitting a bat. 

The next few moments happened in slow motion. Something whooshed angrily by Harry’s shoulder, making him lurch forward. His fingers curled instinctively around a cold, grooved surface. To his left, Draco gave a grunt as a substantial force pushed him towards the grass. A player yelled, and a few people in the crowd gasped. 

“POTTER CATCHES THE SNITCH! Gryffindor wins by ninety points!” 

The stadium erupted into a cheering mass of green and gold. But above it all, the shrill voice of Pansy Parkinson screamed, “Help him! For Merlin’s sake, someone _help him_!” 

Harry turned his broom around, and his eyes widened. The Snitch slipped from his grip, and he ignored the people congratulating him from the stands. On the wet grass lay Draco, his broom flung to the side, his body writhing in pain. 

Without a second thought, the Chosen One flew right back to Draco’s side as Madam Pomfrey hurried towards them. Slytherin’s Seeker sat up with difficulty, wincing and groaning, his left hand curled into a white-knuckled fist. None of his limbs bent at an abnormal angle, but Harry had been injured enough times to tell from Draco’s reaction that he was severely hurt. 

“What happened? Is it your leg?” Harry asked as he knelt next to the rival Seeker. 

“Right arm…” Draco gasped. “ _Fuck._ Fuck, it…” He groaned and screwed his eyes shut. “Can…can you…” His uninjured hand opened. An invitation. “Please. It’ll - _ow_ \- help.” 

After a moment’s hesitation, Harry reached forward and took his hand. Draco’s fingers gripped Harry like a lifeline, and his shallow breathing deepened slightly. 

“Right arm, Madam Pomfrey,” Harry said. The nurse’s white skirts pooled around her as she knelt down, pulled out her wand, and waved it over the length of Draco’s arm. 

“Shattered radius,” She tutted pityingly. “ _Anasthesis_ ,” She intoned, and Draco relaxed instantly, his injured arm sliding limply to the ground. 

Professor Slughorn had strolled to his fallen student, a look of grandfatherly concern displayed on his face. “Anything I can do to help, Madam?” 

“A bone-strengthening potion as soon as possible, Professor,” Madam Pomfrey replied, helping Draco to stand. “That and a good night’s sleep will do fine. There are too many delicate fractures for a spell to fix.” 

“Very well. All right there, Malfoy?” Professor Slughorn said. His gaze dropped to Harry’s and Draco’s hands, which were still interlocked. “Ah, I didn’t know you two were such close friends. Good for you, Potter.” 

Harry raised his eyebrows at the possible implications of the statement, and Draco slipped his hand surreptitiously from Harry’s grasp. “I’m fine, Professor,” Draco said. “It just hurt a lot…”

His eyes suddenly rolled back, and he fell backward, but Harry caught him, grunting slightly. Skinny as the Slytherin may have been, he was still tall and subsequently heavy. 

“Oh, bother,” Madam Pomfrey sighed, helping Harry lift Draco’s limp figure. “Tricky devils, numbing spells. Nine times out of ten people faint from it. I don’t expect you to abandon your victory celebrations, but I could use a hand getting this one to the hospital wing.” 

“Of course I’ll help,” Harry said quickly, slinging Draco’s uninjured arm over his right shoulder and gripping the Slytherin’s narrow waist with his left arm. 

Harry’s muscles trembled from climbing two flights of stairs, but he was still careful not to move Draco’s fractured arm too much as he lay him down in an empty bed. The only other occupants of the wing were a bloody-nosed young boy and a disgruntled-looking girl whose hair had apparently been cursed off. 

“Thank you for helping,” Madam Pomfrey said, rolling up her sleeves. 

“It’s no bother, Madam Pomfrey,” Harry panted slightly as he placed Draco’s head on the pillow, “But wouldn’t it have been easier to move him with…” He was momentarily distracted as he accidentally caught a whiff of Draco’s damp hair. It smelled a bit like gardenias after a rainstorm, and Harry almost sniffed again before he realized how creepy that would be and stood up instead. “Magic?” 

“Can’t risk jostling that arm too much,” Madam Pomfrey, “Besides,” She added with a knowing smile, “You seemed so eager to help.” 

“Right…” Harry stretched out his arms and looked down at Draco, lying still on the hospital bed. The Slytherin’s face seemed peaceful, softer now that it wasn’t carved into a marble-like, angry expression. Draco’s chest rose and fell, his cheeks rosy from the wind. Harry almost felt sorry to leave, even though it was for Gryffindor Tower, where his friends would be cheering for him. But he also knew he would be back because Draco was his friend now. And as he had proved time and time again, Harry would remain loyal and supportive of his friends. 

To the bitter end. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest, this chapter is a bit sloppier than usual. And confusing - though the haziness is quite deliberate. These scenes once again delve deep into the characters themselves, but this chapter is also heavy with important plot events and certain turning points. The story will only escalate from here...


	10. Prince of Darkness

Light spilled across the stone floor and the snow-white linens in the hospital wing. Draco woke before his eyes opened, and the first thing he saw was the pale pink of his eyelids, crisscrossed by violet veins. He blinked and lifted himself with his left arm. The hospital wing was mostly empty, the white beds standing neatly like a line of sleeping swans. 

Harry Potter sat in a chair next to Draco’s bed. He slumped, head in hand, in a hand-knitted, maroon sweater with an H on it. Draco’s mouth quirked into a half-smile; of course, the loyal, perfect Chosen One visited himin the hospital wing. When no one else would. 

“Potter,” Draco said softly, but the boy kept right on sleeping. The Slytherin rolled his eyes and tried again, louder. “Potter!” 

The Gryffindor jumped to consciousness, straightening his posture, and adjusting his glasses. “What time is it?” He muttered. He checked a golden, dented watch, and gave a sigh of relief. 

“Late for something?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"No, I didn’t want to stay too long. Hermione and Ron wanted to do a study group with a few others later.” Potter leaned forward in his chair and met Draco’s gaze, making his heart skip a beat. Draco hated to admit it even to himself, but there was something equally gorgeous and irritating about the brunet’s emerald-bright eyes peering through his signature round glasses. “How are you feeling?” 

Draco lifted his right arm and flexed his fingers. A dull pain throbbed through his forearm, but it was subtle enough that he could ignore it if he tried. “Much better.” He pulled down his sheets and sat on top of them, cross-legged. _I need a shower,_ Draco thought, uncomfortably aware that he was still wearing the Quidditch underclothes from the day before. 

“Malfoy….” Potter began, clasping his hands, “Do you want to talk? Things have been kind of weird with us lately. Weird and unfriendly. I get if you don’t want to tell me _everything_ that’s been happening, but friends share what’s going on in their lives.”

Draco dropped his gaze guiltily. It had been about three weeks since his short excursion from Hogwarts, and he had been trying desperately not to think about what happened. A mental static blocked his present from that particular bit of his past, and he wasn’t yet ready to dig through it. “I’m not ready to share everything,” He said finally. “But I... appreciate you coming here to check on me.”

“Yeah, it’s no problem,” Potter replied, a friendly smile blooming on his face. 

“However, I do need to know the name of the dunderhead who hit me so I couldn’t catch that damn Snitch.” 

“I dunno, Malfoy. I think I still would’ve caught it.” 

Draco sighed dramatically. “In your dreams, Potter. Now, who hit me?” 

“It was a Slytherin, actually.” The Gryffindor laughed. It was a sound Draco was having a hard time getting used to, but one he looked forward to hearing nonetheless. “By accident. One of your Beaters, the taller one, thought it was a good idea to try and hit me.” 

“At _that_ crucial point?” Draco groaned, slapping his forehead in frustration. He shook his head and gave Potter a hopeless look. “If only everyone was as much of a Quidditch genius as we are.” 

“We?” Potter said, his voice lilting amusedly. “Am I a Quidditch genius?” 

“You’re probably the best Seeker this school has seen in at least a generation,” Draco said begrudgingly. He waited a moment, then squinted at the other athlete. “Huh. Did your head get bigger just now?” 

Potter snickered, though not unkindly. “Good one, Malfoy. You’re a real comedian.” 

Draco lifted his chin in mock-arrogance. “I’ve always thought so.” 

The two of them settled into silence, but it no longer felt thick and oppressive as it did before. For the first time since Draco met Potter eight years ago, the Slytherin felt comfortable - content, even - being alone with him. It was a strange, but not unwelcome, feeling.

The image of a crumpled, tearstained letter flashed through Draco’s mind, and a jolt of apprehension shot through him like lightning. Was it now the right time? Could he tell Harry what he’d wanted to tell someone for years? Or would Harry’s reaction be just as angry as the writing in the letter had been? 

_Not yet._ Draco flexed his right hand again, letting blood rush around the healing bone. _In a couple of days, maybe. When I’m not as vulnerable._ With a deep breath, Draco sealed the decision. He would tell Harry his secret and hope the Chosen One wouldn’t abandon him. Like everyone else had.

• • •

Snow fell, silent as a fox, upon Hogwarts castle. The Whomping Willow shook cottony drifts off its spindly branches every once in a while. Friends huddled together for warmth, walking briskly from class to class between cold stone hallways. Only one person dared to stay outside for longer than was necessary, and he relished the frozen silence and aloneness more than anyone else would.

Quill scratching against parchment, Draco Malfoy brainstormed in an alcove of a courtyard. One leg hanging down, the other propped up, he wrote down possible topics he could use for the end of the year paper the eighth-years had been assigned. He knew that his fellow Slytherins would tease him to no end if they found out how much of a head start he was getting on the essay, but he felt it was better to be prepared early on. Especially if certain life-threatening circumstances prevented him from working on it in the future.

Squelching footsteps in the snow caused Draco to look up, and he clenched his paper at the sight of other people. A pair of fifth-year girls were chattering gaily, their arms linked in a companionable manner. When they saw Draco, they fell silent and walked faster, casting their eyes to the frozen ground, but not before shooting him a pair of dirty glares.

Draco huffed exasperatedly, but he didn’t confront them. It would only support what everyone said behind his back; that he was a filthy supporter of Voldemort, who wished for the destruction of their harmonious society, and wasn’t fit to lick anyone’s boots. Even his fellow Slytherins kept an icy distance, not wanting to associate with the losing side any more than they already had the misfortune to.

Nearby, metallic clangs resounded from the Hogwarts bell tower, signaling twelve noon. Draco loved sitting near the bell during his free periods; the deep, sonorous sound reverberated through his body, soothing him and making him feel grounded. Unfortunately, the twelve gongs also meant the start of the lunch hour and Draco’s reluctant return to vicious humanity.

Inside, Hogwarts’ warm hallways surged with students. On pure instinct, Draco immediately searched for Potter’s untidy black hair and made his way towards him. But Granger and Weasley soon came into view, and Draco slowed his steps for fear of being shouted at.

As if sensing his presence, Potter looked over his shoulder and met Draco’s eyes; the Boy Who Lived wore an open and friendly expression on his face. “Hey, Malfoy,” Potter said as Draco neared. A look of disgust flitted across Weasley’s face as quickly as lightning, but the Slytherin didn’t miss it. Granger, however, gave him the courtesy of a nod.

“See you later?” The bushy-haired girl said to Potter. She phrased it as a question but gripped her lanky boyfriend’s arm with enough purpose to indicate that their parting was non-negotiable.

“Yeah,” Potter gave the duo a parting wave before focusing his attention on Draco. “How’s your day been so far?”

The question, though it had come numerous times the past few months, still threw the Slytherin for a moment. Only a year ago, if their paths had crossed, they would be at each other’s throats. But now Harry Potter took the time to look after Draco’s well-being, as a true friend would.

Draco made up his mind.

“It’s been okay,” He said, nervousness flooding his limbs with a pins-and-needles sensation. He took a deep breath. “Potter, I would like to talk to you about something.”

“Sure, what?”

The crowd around them was thinning, but there were still students milling about. Their young ears and eyes lingered on the Chosen One and the Dark Lord’s former apprentice walking together. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

Luckily, the nearest classroom stood empty, its door ajar, so Draco slipped inside as Potter followed. Draco closed the door and thought about locking it, but he didn’t want to give his friend the wrong idea.

Chalkdust still drifted from the floor near the front of the classroom, implying that a class - likely a chaotic one - had recently left it. Potter draped his school satchel over a chair and casually leaned against the adjacent desk. Draco carefully placed his own bag on another chair. He remained standing, though his legs shook slightly.

“I want to tell you something. Something I’ve never told anyone before,” Draco said, causing Potter to focus his attention on the blond. “And I need you not to tell anyone else.”

“Does your father know?” Potter asked, suspicion flickering through his eyes.

Draco remembered the crumpled, furiously written-upon letter that came from the resentful claws of an eagle owl. “Yes. But I never wanted him to.” Draco’s palms suddenly felt sweaty, and he subtly wiped them on his black pants. “I may have at least told Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy sooner if the whole Death Eater thing hadn’t happened...but now I wouldn’t dare. I’m enough of an outcast as it is.”

Potter folded his arms, and Draco wondered if he was making a huge mistake. But hope pressed back the fear rising in his chest.

“Being your...friend has made me realize I want to start being more honest. And I’ve tried to suppress this feeling I’ve had for years, but I’m done hiding from myself. It’s taken me a long time to realize that I like boys the way everyone expects me to like girls.”

Potter’s eyebrows shot up into his hair. Whatever he had been expecting from Draco Malfoy, this definitely wasn’t it.

“The truth is… I’m gay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have noticed, the chapters thus far have all been in a 3rd-person POV that focuses mainly on Harry, as the canon books do. However, this chapter focuses more on Draco's POV, and is the first of a few chapters that may do so throughout the series.   
> The content itself may be short, but I think it's important to provide a little window into Draco's mind. His perspective will prove helpful to the reader's understanding of the story going forward.


	11. Bittersweet Acceptance

“I want to tell you something. Something I’ve never told anyone before. And I need you not to tell anyone else.”

Harry’s mind immediately became clouded in suspicion. The way Malfoy wouldn’t meet his eyes, how he made sure to close the door, his pale hands fidgeting…it was enough to make any other Gryffindor to quietly reach for their wand. 

“Does your father know?” Harry asked, testing the waters. If Lucius Malfoy was in on whatever secret Draco had to divulge, then that was indubitably bad news. Right? 

“Yes.” Harry’s heart sank like a stone thrown into the Black Lake at Malfoy’s answer. “But I never wanted to. I may have at least told Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy sooner if the whole Death Eater thing hadn’t happened...but now I wouldn’t dare. I’m enough of an outcast as it is.”

That was different. Harry crossed his arms over his chest in an apprehensive gesture. It almost sounded like Draco had betrayed his father in some way. _Which would certainly explain a lot._ Harry thought, waiting for the young Slytherin to finish his speech. 

“Being your…friend has made me realize I want to start being more honest.” Only then did Draco look up, his silver eyes piercing Harry’s even from several feet away. “And I’ve tried to suppress this feeling I’ve had for years, but I’m done hiding from myself. It’s taken me a long time to realize that I like boys the way everyone expects me to like girls.” 

_Oh._

“The truth is… I’m gay.” 

The silence that followed was dripping in awkwardness. Draco had cast his eyes to the ground again, flushed from ear to ear. Harry grappled with the words tumbling in his mind, trying to piece together the appropriate response. All he knew was that Draco had given him - Harry Potter! Of all people - extremely sensitive, personal information. 

“Thank you for telling me,” Harry said, his voice soft. “I’m sure this probably isn’t the easiest thing to do. Coming out.” 

“No, it definitely isn’t.” Draco let out a whoosh of air, and suddenly let out a chuckle. “I…Wow. I’ve been keeping this a secret for way too long. I almost wish I could shout it from the rooftops. But you know them.” His grey eyes trailed towards the door. “They’d tear me to shreds.” 

Harry nodded gravely. Hogwarts students were, as teenagers go, an intelligent and friendly bunch. But the prospect of gay and lesbian people among them was a distant reality too foreign to consider. And if they found out that the black-hearted, traitorous killer was gay? Tearing to shreds was not much of an exaggeration. 

“I’m scared, Potter,” Draco said. He stood before Harry, more emotionally vulnerable than he ever had been. For a single jarring moment, Harry saw past the snobby façade to the helpless, trapped child beneath. “You promise not to tell _anyone?_ ”

“I promise, Draco.” Harry expected the young man’s first name to feel strange on his tongue, but it felt as natural as Ron’s or Hermione’s. _Ron and Hermione._ Harry realized, with a jolt, that he would have to keep this even from them. The reality disturbed him, but he consoled himself with the possibility that Draco would eventually come out to everyone. _Wouldn’t he?_

• • •

Under the leadership of Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, the houses of Hogwarts School had begun to interact more and more with each other. During meals, the dining hall was no longer separated into blocks of green, red, yellow, and blue; though not everyone wanted to venture into inter-house cliques, still others were willing to try. Even the Slytherin table was dotted with children wearing yellow ties, as Hufflepuff first-years had formed a friend group with their outcasted peers. 

Hermione and Ron had no such desires to branch out. No longer eager-to-please children and satisfied with each other’s company, they sat with Ginny, Dean, and Seamus as always. Luna or the Patil twins occasionally joined them, and the Gryffindors welcomed their company with apt congeniality. 

But the best lunches, Ron felt, were the ones where he sat only with Hermione and Harry. The Boy Who Lived hung out with Draco Malfoy more than Ron could have ever anticipated, but Harry always sat with his oldest friends in the afternoon. The childish jealousy Ron used to feel towards Harry had faded completely, and he found that their friendship still grew in their new adulthood. 

His relationship with Hermione developed just as quickly; Ron no longer saw her as the bookish know-it-all, nor the plain but friendly girl who paled in comparison to the rest of his peers. If he were honest with himself, Ron would admit that Hermione was not extraordinarily pretty by society’s standards. But with each passing day, both her physical self and her actions seemed beautiful to him. Her delight at learning new things, the way she tucked her thick brown hair behind her ear to read, her soft lips as they pressed against his cheek…Ron couldn’t fathom how he had ever believed Hermione to be anything less than exquisite. 

The Golden Trio. Ron Weasley wouldn’t ask for any others at his side. But on one fateful day in early November, a new and deadly variable would threaten to tip the perfect balance of the Trio’s friendship. 

“’ Mione, Ron,” Harry said, standing before his friends. A young man lingered a bit far off of Harry’s left side, as if embarrassed - or afraid - to be seen with him. “What’s going on with you guys?” 

“A huge sandwich, in Ron’s case,” Hermione chirruped, reluctantly tearing her eyes from the thick book by her plate. Her own food consisted of a salad and a few slices of chicken breast, all of which remained nearly untouched. “And this book is fascinating, but I’ll tell you about it later. Why are you so late for lunch?” 

“Well…” Harry lost his words for a moment. He cast a nervous glance to his companion, who appeared more and more uncomfortable by the minute. _Serves him right,_ Ron thought, but he didn’t dare badmouth Harry’s new friend. It wasn’t worth the trouble. “I want to introduce you to someone.” 

“Someone we already know…?” Hermione raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at the Slytherin. He remained quiet so far, to Ron’s surprise, and did not wear his usual mask of arrogance and malice. 

“Hermione. Ron. I’d like you to meet Draco Malfoy,” Harry said, gesturing the blond forward. Malfoy shuffled a bit closer, but he looked uncomfortable. The only recognizable behavioral trait he still had was his posture; his rigid spine and proud shoulders demonstrated confidence that did not show on his face. 

“We’ve met,” Ron said shortly, and Hermione nudged him under the table, silently urging him to tone down his attitude. 

“I told you this was a bad idea, Potter,” Malfoy muttered. His close proximity to Harry, and the way their faces instinctively leaned towards each other as they talked, somehow made Ron feel angry. Who did this upstart traitor think he was, trying to get all buddy-buddy with _Ron’s_ best friend? Ron, by all accounts, was not an unkind person, but he drew the line at Draco Malfoy. 

“It’ll be fine,” Harry reassured his former rival. “Draco is going to be sitting with us this week,” He pronounced to Ron and Hermione. “Look, I know we always haven’t had the best relationship with him, but I think we can all set aside our differences with some effort. The other Slytherin eighth-years sort of…abandoned him during lunch, so I thought we could give him our company for the time being.” 

“That’s very kind of you, Harry,” Hermione said quickly, sensing that Ron was about to blurt a smart-alecky protest. “Have a seat, Malfoy. Er…do you mind if I call you Draco?” 

“As you like it,” Malfoy said stiffly, sitting next to Harry, across from the other two. 

“‘As you like it?’” Ron said, indignant at the way his girlfriend was so willing to let the Slytherin into their inner circle. “Hermione, this scumbag called you a- a Mud…No, I won’t say it.” 

“ _Don’t_ call Malfoy a scumbag,” Harry said, and Ron could tell by his voice that he was intensely serious. Malfoy himself directed his gaze at the table, an unmistakable look of horrific guilt painted across his face. 

“I apologize for my offenses toward you in the past, Granger,” Malfoy said sincerely. “And that goes for you as well, Weasley.” 

“It’s alright, Draco,” Hermione said kindly. “It was a long time ago.” 

Although it didn’t feel that long ago to Ron, and he was inclined to say so, he offered instead, “Whatever. Apology accepted. But don’t mess with my girlfriend.” His heart pattered slightly as Hermione shyly bit back a grateful smile.

“No one is messing with anyone else,” Harry said, in the voice that he always used when taking leadership. He directed this statement mostly at Malfoy, who rolled his eyes but nodded. It was almost incredible, the way Malfoy deferred to Harry. Ron wondered what exactly they had talked about before joining himself and Hermione. 

The last few minutes of lunch consisted mostly of eating food - as it ought to be - and avoiding conversation. Ron had no idea what he could possibly say to a person whom he shared mutual hatred with for seven years, so he decided to say nothing. The conversation was mostly broken by Harry, who unsuccessfully tried to keep Malfoy engaged with the others. 

Ron didn’t know what Harry wanted to accomplish, but whatever it was, he probably hadn’t accomplished it. The Hogwarts bell chimed once, and the four students parted ways for class, each one feeling awkward and apprehensive.

• • •

_A little while earlier_

“Can I ask you a personal question?” 

To escape from the stifling setting of the classroom, Draco and Harry took their conversation outside, to one of Hogwarts’ many roofed walkways next to the dining hall. Snow had begun to fall faintly, dusting the branches of a nearby tree with powder. Harry shook slightly in the cold, having forgotten his extra-thick cloak, but Draco didn’t seem bothered at all by the weather. 

Draco raised his eyebrows at Harry’s request. “I just came out to you, Potter. What more do you want from me?” 

“Er…Well, I’m not gay. So that’s probably why I don’t understand. Why have you kept this a secret for so long?” 

“Potter, we just talked about this. People might literally kill me.” 

“Oh. I meant, why push down your true feelings? Why lie to yourself?” 

A dark look passed over Draco’s face, and Harry flinched, worried that he had gone too far. “My parents taught me that marriage was a sacred bond between a man and a woman. _Only_ betweena man and a woman,” Draco said, anger inching into his voice. “They always intended for me to marry a rich, pretty, pureblood girl. Homosexuality, in my father’s eyes, was an unnatural abomination. He forced that idea into my head from a very young age. I hated myself, Potter,” Draco’s voice broke, but he quickly cleared his throat and pressed on. “Sometimes, I still do. And when my father found out that I was gay…” 

Harry knew what came next, even as Draco dwindled into silence. Hermione had told Harry what awful things parents did to their own LGBT children, Muggles and wizards alike. “He kicked you out,” Harry guessed, and Draco’s eyes glistened. 

_I’m sorry._ Harry thought, but he knew from personal experience that apologies often weren’t enough. Instead, he reached out towards Draco, palm up. 

Draco looked curiously down at Harry’s hand, which wore a worn-out, knitted glove. “What?” 

Harry sighed. “Come on, Malfoy. I know this makes you feel better. I was there when you broke your arm, remember?” 

“I shouldn’t have let you get so close,” Draco grumbled, but his leather-clad fingers interlaced with Harry’s. 

Harry had only ever held hands with his female friends; he supposed that hand-holding could be done platonically between male friends just as well. After all, girls did it with each other. But even as he reasoned away the strangeness of the action, Harry blurted, “Why does holding hands calm you down, anyway?” 

“Must you know _everything_ about me?” Draco lamented, but he continued, “Physical contact is simply important to me. As it is to many others, in fact. No need to excessively read into it.” Harry snuck a glance at the blond and wasn’t terribly surprised to see that his pale face was flushed - although that could have been from the cold. “Sometime soon, you owe me secrets, too, Potter. It’s only fair.” 

Harry felt a smile creeping across his face. “You’re on, Malfoy.” 

A bird suddenly flew through the walkway, diving just a foot away from Harry’s face and landing on a tree in front of them. The two friends paused to watch it hop between the branches, flutter its brown wings, and tilt its head playfully. 

“A sparrow,” Draco said softly. His face fell, and his grip on Harry’s hand loosened slightly. “Let’s go inside, Potter. I know you’ve been shivering this whole time.” 

“I have not. We can go inside, but only because I’m hungry,” Harry insisted. Draco only smirked and shook his head. The Slytherin slipped his hand out of Harry’s but walked so close to him that their shoulders nearly brushed. As they neared the dining hall, Harry stopped, an idea forming in his brain. 

“Hey, Malfoy,” he said, turning to Draco with a spark in his eye, “Do you want to meet my friends?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter switches back to Harry's POV, and thus focuses on his reaction to what Draco tells him. The chapter is one of the more dialogue-heavy ones; the plot is moved along by the characters themselves rather than their circumstances.


	12. Swing

Over the next week, Harry did his best to harmonize Draco with the Golden Trio, with mixed results. Hermione, with her forgiving nature, managed at least to be semi-friendly to Draco, and they had bonded on more than one occasion over their love of academic writing. Ron, however, interacted with the Slytherin as little as possible; Harry appreciated his best friend doing away with the insulting comments, but he felt things weren’t moving fast enough. He told Ron as much, while the Trio studied together by the fire one night. 

“What’s the big rush?” Ron asked, flipping unenthusiastically through a Potions textbook. “He used to be our biggest enemy, Harry. We spent so many nights complaining about him. This is kind of a big adjustment.” 

“Yes, but that was when we were much younger,” Harry pointed out. His own textbook lay open, but he didn’t even glance at it. “Before our ‘biggest enemy’ became Voldemort.” 

“Yeah, and guess who followed in his father’s footsteps to _serve_ You-Know-Who? Malfoy. Hermione,” Ron looked up from his reading, quill hovering uncertainly over a sheet of parchment, “What’d you get for number eleven?” 

Hermione, who was ten questions ahead, leaned over and sighed. “Well, it’s not badger fur, darling. Skip it and come back to it later.” 

“He was _forced_ into becoming a Death Eater!” Harry protested. Though Draco hadn’t explicitly told him so, he had undoubtedly insinuated as much. “It’s not his fault.” 

Ron, being a relatively fair person, conceded, “Well, maybe so. But that doesn’t excuse the fact that he’s been a git from day one.” 

Harry gave an exasperated huff and opened his mouth to argue, but Hermione lay a gentle hand on his arm. “Let it go for now, will you?” She pleaded. “Give it some time. We’ll all learn to get along.” They all looked across the Slytherin common room to Draco, who studied by himself, focused on pages and pages of notes. “In the meantime, you two should focus on passing tomorrow’s test.” 

“Why just us two?” Ron said. “Ah, it’s because we’re not geniuses like you,” He immediately realized, giving her a teasing grin. Hermione rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help but smile. 

Harry looked back down at the review questions, his head swimming with Latin animal names as well as the current friendship issues. **3\. Which family’s teeth help concoct explosive potions? Powdered dry or mixed with water first?** _Hell if I know,_ Harry thought frustratedly, flipping through his textbook. He usually got decent grades in Potions, but the past unit had been increasingly confusing. Plants and herbs were complicated enough, but memorizing the qualities of animal parts as well? Damn near impossible. 

After only five minutes of pages turning and quills scratching, Hermione let out another sigh. “Oh, Harry. You’re only on number four?” 

“Yes, what about it?” 

“I’d help you more, but I’ve still got five left…” Her intelligent gaze swept the room, landing on something promising. “Why don’t you ask Draco to help you? It looks like he’s done.” Harry turned to watch the blond, who shuffled his notes into a stack and dried off his quill. 

“Hate to admit it, but the bloke’s a Potions whiz,” Ron agreed. 

Harry’s heart soared at the prospect of studying alone with Draco, though he wasn’t sure why. “Alright, then. Goodnight if I don’t see you.” 

“Have fun, Harry,” Hermione smiled, and Harry wondered at her choice of words, but he swept up his things and didn’t give it much thought. 

Silver eyes swept over Harry curiously as he placed his Potions paraphernalia on one of the many dark rosewood tables scattered about the common room. “Let me guess,” Draco said wryly, “You’re hopeless at Potions, and you don’t want to fail the test tomorrow, so you came to me for help?” 

“Your deduction skills,” Harry said, sitting down next to him, “Are impeccable.” 

“Unlike your animal classification skills,” Draco said, glancing over Harry’s review parchment. “Honestly, Potter. _Carnivora_ is an order of animals, not a family. Number three is _Felidae_.”

“Right…” Harry pulled the parchment from Draco’s grip, and in doing so, brushed the other’s hand. Draco flinched, but Harry brushed off the contact as an accident and crossed out his initial answer. “Erm, actually. Could you explain animal classification to me?” 

“If I must,” Draco sighed, taking out a spare bit of parchment. He wrote down the seven classification levels as Harry looked on. “Here. Kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, genus, and species.” 

“This seems so far removed from actual Potions,” Harry remarked. 

Draco rolled his eyes in agreement. “I know, right? They even teach this rubbish in Muggle schools. But you’re going to have to memorize it. Just remember this mnemonic device: ‘Killer pigeons can only feed on goats and salamanders.’”

“There seems to be an extra o,” Harry pointed out. 

“Oh, hush. It’s to make the sentence work.” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“Insufferable…” Draco muttered, but he was biting back a smile. _He looks adorable when he smiles,_ Harry thought, but the idea of admitting such a thing embarrassed him, and he pushed it away. “Potter, you’ve seriously got sixteen questions left? We may be here a while.” The Slytherin reached across the table to grab his companion’s notes, and Harry caught the faint scent of gardenias. _How does he manage to always smell like flowers?_ Harry thought. _It’s almost unfair._

Despite all that was on his mind in the late hour, Harry did his best to focus on Draco’s teaching. The Slytherin, in addition to being almost as naturally intelligent as Hermione, knew this particular Potions unit inside out. Perhaps he wasn’t as patient as Harry would’ve liked, but Draco’s blunt style worked well enough for the circumstances. 

Before long, the common room began to empty. With tired yawns and sleepy footsteps, the Slytherins and Gryffindors headed off to bed. Harry’s eyes began to droop as well, but he would’ve pressed on if Draco hadn’t noticed him nodding off. 

“Merlin’s sake, it’s one in the morning,” Draco exclaimed in a hushed voice. “You should sleep if you’re to retain any information.” 

“Then you have to sleep as well,” Harry said, scooping his notes into a pile. 

Draco chuckled bitterly. “Bold of you to suggest I get any sleep on a normal basis.” 

Harry frowned empathetically. “Nightmares?” 

“I…” Draco looked mildly surprised that Harry had guessed. “Yes. You get it.” He gave him an appraising look, and a warm feeling bloomed in Harry’s chest. Perhaps the two of them weren’t so different after all; the Dark Lord still haunted them and would until their dying day. 

The glow of the last dying flames from the fireplace and torches flickered across their faces. The moon, covered with clouds, gave no light through the lake, and darkness began to seep into the common room. Harry felt less afraid of the dark than he had ever been, being with Draco Malfoy. The blond finished gathering up his own notes, the two of them standing. 

Draco opened his mouth as if to say something, closed it, and tried again. “Do you still have the necklace I gave you?” 

“I don’t take it off.” 

The Slytherin stepped close enough so that Harry could see the torchlight reflected in his pale eyes. Draco’s lips parted, and for a wild second, Harry thought he was going to kiss him. But Draco’s pale fingers reached out instead, gently brushing Harry’s neck until they looped underneath the invisible chain. His hand grasped in a fist around what looked to be empty air, feeling the stone. Anxiety past in a flash across Draco’s face then disappeared. He dropped the necklace back into Harry’s shirt and stepped back casually. 

“Goodnight, Potter,” Draco said with a curt nod. “Let’s hope you don’t do entirely abysmal on the test tomorrow.” 

Harry nodded back. His mouth felt dry, but his palms were sweaty. “Er…right. Thanks for your help, Malfoy.” 

“Anytime.” The Slytherin melted away into the shadows, footsteps echoing on the way back to the dormitory. 

Heart pounding, Harry felt more like a blushing, young schoolboy than he had felt in a long time. His stomach dropped and fluttered as if he was on a swing, but he couldn’t understand why. Adding to his confusion was the temperature of the necklace; Harry hadn’t realized it before because he wore it so often, but Draco lifting it off his chest made him pay more attention. 

The jet-black stone was ice-cold. 

• • •

To outsiders, Hogwarts students seemed to have an unhealthy obsession over school matches of Quidditch. On game days, academic progress slowed more than it ever should. Even those whose Houses were not participating were restless; younger students chattered excitedly about their friends on the team, and older students passed money among themselves for easy and far-fetched bets alike. 

The teachers at Hogwarts had learned to deal with these frenzied days, either by controlling the class more than usual or merely letting the regular classwork fall by the wayside. Professor Dahlia Balengchit, even though she was still relatively new to Hogwarts, had already developed a plan for match days. 

“If you can keep yourselves calm, stay attentive, and take diligent notes, then _maybe_ I’ll let you all have a free period for the last bit of class,” Professor Dahlia announced as the students took their seats. But she showed a smile and a spring in her step; she was pumped for the upcoming match as well. Curiously, Dahlia was wearing both Slytherin green and Ravenclaw blue. Apparently, if she couldn’t cheer for her own house, the professor would cheer for both sides. 

After a restless, but brief lecture on dueling etiquette, the eighth years were allowed to leave class early. Harry gathered up his things quietly, moving to meet Ron and Hermione. The seating arrangement of the Defense Against the Dark Arts class was rather lax, and that day Harry’s mind felt too preoccupied to accommodate both learning and chatting with his friends, so he had sat by himself in the back. 

“All right, Harry?” Ron greeted, his fingers interlaced with Hermione’s. “Where shall we go, then? I reckon Ginny doesn’t have class right now either, we could hang out with her at the Gryffindor Tower.”

“Maybe…” Harry’s gaze drifted towards Malfoy, who was talking with the teacher, a page of notes laid between them. Ever since their night of study, Harry hadn’t been able to think about anyone else. For the first time, he realized that he had certain…feelings for the young man that could no longer be ignored. He doubted the feelings were romantic, but they were strong. Stronger than ordinary friendship. “Okay, then. I want to ask you two something along the way.” 

Icy rain shot by the windows as the trio walked along Hogwarts’s nearly empty hallways. Lately, the weather acted as indecisive as a child in a candy shop, switching from snow to pouring rain to cold sunlight as the heavens dictated. 

“So, um…” Harry began cautiously as they headed toward the Tower. “Is-is there a word for a feeling that’s greater than friendship?” 

“Ahhh, our little Harry fancies a girl, eh?” Ron teased with a Weasley-twin-esque grin. Harry chuckled wryly at “little”; though he was about two inches taller than Hermione, Ron still towered over them both. 

“Not exactly. I don’t fancy, er, a particular person. Although I do find them attractive. Objectively. But lately, I dunno. It just feels right being with them. It’s similar to how I feel about being with you both, but not quite. It’s hard to explain,” Harry sighed. He felt like he was grasping at straws. 

Hermione watched him with bright and interested eyes. “You’re right, this isn’t some schoolboy crush,” She deduced. “And not quite love. But you feel safe with them, somehow. Is that it?” 

“Yes, that’s about right.” 

Hermione thought for a moment. She still held Ron’s hand, but now she lifted and kissed it. “You know,” She said with a smile, “I felt that way about Ron once. Around sixth year, I think. So, to answer your question, I’d call it the prelude to falling in love. You might not fall in love with them, of course, but it’s on the horizon.” 

Harry’s heart skipped at her words. _In love with Draco Malfoy?_ The thought was preposterous. But still…everything she said made sense. He decided not to linger on it for now. “All right. Thanks for the insight, ‘Mione.” He kept his tone casual, but alarm bells were going off in his head. Even if Harry wasn’t falling for Draco, his feelings meant that he was able to feel about boys the same way he was supposed to feel about girls. And yet, he really liked girls. Girls were soft and gorgeous and forgiving. _I can’t possibly be gay._

“No problem,” Hermione chirped. “Never thought you’d ask me for advice about women, Harry.” 

“You _are_ one, so that helps,” Ron chimed in, making the two others laugh. But Harry felt uneasy, as Hermione had assumed that the unknown person was female. 

Before long, the familiar painting of the Fat Lady came into view. The woman herself grinned mischievously when she saw them. “Don’t you three have class right now?” 

“Professor Dahlia dismissed us early,” Hermione replied. 

“Well, if you say so, Miss Granger. Password?” 

“Alpha Centauri,” Ron said confidently, but the Fat Lady shook her head again, brown curls bouncing. 

“That was last week’s,” The Fat Lady corrected, and Ron cursed under his breath.

“I ought to have asked Ginny more often,” He grumbled. “Look, can’t you let us in this once? You know us!” 

“Well…” The painted woman crossed her arms thoughtfully. “If you can tell me what my true name is, I’ll let you through.” 

Ron blinked, bemused. “Er…” He looked to his friends, but even Hermione was stumped. “Agatha?” He guessed. The Fat Lady frowned and sniffed in response. 

Suddenly, her portrait swung forward to reveal Ginny, who stepped over the threshold and froze guiltily at the sight of the eighth years. “Oh. Um, hello, Ron, Hermione, Harry.” 

“Hey, Ginny,” Ron and Harry both replied, oblivious to her ill-disguised sneakiness. 

“Where are you off to?” Hermione said innocently. 

“I’m going to see if Luna has a class now,” Ginny said sincerely, tucking back a lock of fiery hair. “I thought we could hang out for a bit. She said she was working on a special poster to hold up for today’s match. Don’t suppose you’d care to join us?” 

“That’s alright,” Harry said quickly before the other two could answer. He knew Luna and Ginny’s time alone together was limited. “We’ll see you later.” Ginny shot him a grateful smile as she walked past them, smoothing out her robes and running her fingers through her long hair. 

“You can come in now,” The Fat Lady huffed. 

Ron paused before closing the portrait. “Aren’t you going to tell us your real name?” He asked. 

“No,” The Fat Lady said shortly and closed the passageway herself. 

“Wonder what’s up her arse,” Ron muttered, prompting a muted slap on the arm from his girlfriend. 

The Gryffindor common room glowed with warm-toned familiarity, squashy armchairs sitting upon the red and gold carpets. A fire crackled invitingly in the fireplace, shielding against the autumn chill, and a couple of third-years sat talking in front of it. A handful of older students sat by one of the many windows, watching two of their peers play a heated game of wizard’s chess. 

The Golden Trio sat in their usual arrangement, Ron and Hermione on a couch with Harry sitting in front of them. Harry never seemed to feel as uncomfortable on the floor as others usually did; he leaned back casually on his arms, crossing one leg over the other. 

“Just like old times,” Ron said happily, draping an arm around Hermione’s shoulder. She leaned into him on instinct, and Harry couldn’t help but admire their relaxed dynamic. Secretly, he looked forward to their wedding. 

“So, Harry,” Hermione said, striking up a conversation, “Is Malfoy nervous about playing today?” 

“Malfoy’s not playing, actually. He told me, when we were in the hospital wing, that he quit the team after his injury.” 

“That’s a shame. Did he say why?” 

“No, but it was easy to tell,” Harry said truthfully. “He’s had enough after breaking his arm, I guess. Malfoy’s got a lot going on.” 

“Like what?” Ron asked, almost suspiciously. 

“Your guess is as good as mine.” 

“It really is too bad. Malfoy’s a pretty good Seeker.” 

“High praise from you!” Hermione laughed, and Harry grinned as well. “Why don’t you tell him that yourself?” 

Ron looked unenthusiastic at the idea, but he shrugged. “I might, at some point.” 

Harry’s heart leaped at Ron’s statement. Small victory though it seemed, Harry felt that he was one step closer to getting Ron and Draco to be real friends. Perhaps one day before they left Hogwarts, the four of them could sit together in the Slytherin common room as they did now. 

And if that day came, Harry urgently hoped that he would have his feelings for Draco sorted out by then. 

• • •

Luckily for the athletes, the freezing rain stopped just before school let out. Clouds still loomed overhead, but they were starting to break into innocent wisps. Students, mostly from Ravenclaw and Slytherin, trudged across the frosty grass to the Quidditch pitch. Harry, Ron, and Hermione spotted Luna and Ginny within the flow of people and jogged to meet them. 

“Hiya, you three,” Luna said as they approached. Her long blue-and-bronze striped scarf was looped several times around her neck, and she carried a large white poster that was nearly as wide as she was tall. “Look at what Ginny made,” She said excitedly, turning the sign around for them to see. 

Across the poster flew a russet-feathered eagle made out of tissue paper, its beak glinting with aluminum foil. As the trio watched, it swooped down upon a serpent made out of green bottle-glass shards, picking it up and tearing it to red pipe cleaner ribbons. Then the image rewinded, and the scene repeated itself. The rest of the sign was covered with colored stones and gravelly pebbles, providing an earthy backdrop. 

“That’s beautiful magic,” Hermione commended. “You two worked on this today?” 

“I helped a bit, but Ginny did the wandwork,” Luna said, smiling at her friend. “She’s wonderful at artsy charms like this.” 

Ginny blushed from all the praise. “Thanks. It was no problem.” 

Though her friends probably could have stayed for a few more minutes to admire the poster’s finer details, the eagerness for the match spurred them towards the pitch. The five teens found a decent spot in the top half of the bleachers, high enough to see everything, but below the point where the autumn wind began to pick up. 

As the arena began to fill up with attendees, Harry wondered if Draco was even coming. His house was playing, after all. Harry spotted Pansy Parkinson, Anaya Rosier, and the Carrow girl finding seats several feet away, but Draco wasn’t with them. 

“Could you budge up a bit?” Harry asked a Ravenclaw sitting near them. The small, curly-haired girl and her friends were getting a bit close, and Harry wanted to save space in case Draco arrived. 

“He might not come,” Hermione said from his left. “Not everyone comes to their house’s Quidditch games.” 

Her words didn’t help Harry feel any better. He and Draco hadn’t spoken since studying for Potions two nights ago, which could be a coincidence. But he couldn’t help but worry; had he accidentally said something to offend him? When Draco touched his necklace, did the coldness of it bother him somehow? So buried was Harry within his own thoughts, Draco had to call his name three times before he turned around. 

“Lost your hearing, did you?” The blond snipped, but Harry was so relieved to see his friend that he didn’t bother to think of a comeback. 

Draco slipped into the gap between Harry and the Ravenclaw girl. His thin frame fit comfortably, but his thigh still pressed up against Harry’s, making the Gryffindor blush. 

“Good to see they’ve found someone halfway decent to replace me,” Draco said, silvery eyes narrowing critically at the field. The players had emerged from their locker rooms, mounting their brooms. The new Seeker, a lithe, dark-skinned boy, was adjusting his forearm guards. 

“I thought maybe you weren’t coming,” Harry said, still flustered by their proximity. 

“Why wouldn’t I? I have to see if my house makes a fool of themselves or not,” Draco pointed out. On the field, Madam Hooch instructed the teams to hover. She released the Snitch and laid a ready hand on the restraints of the Bludgers, which chattered angrily. 

Luna and Ginny held up their poster and cheered loudly for Ravenclaw as Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and the players flew into action. The green- and blue-decorated spectators whooped and hollered as the game began, but Draco did not join in. Instead, he simply watched the pitch intently, eyes scouring the space. Harry recognized his movements immediately; the Slytherin was searching for the Snitch. 

“Nice throw to captain Stone there, doesn’t miss a pass, that man - ouch, a well-hit Bludger by Miss Gomez,” The same Hufflepuff commentator from the last game spoke quickly, “But Slytherin gets to the Quaffle first thanks to Anna Riveness, weaving through there now - Keeper Weston just misses it - she scores! The first goal of the game by Riveness; Slytherin is ten against naught.” 

_She’s fast._ Harry thought to himself, then Draco said something under his breath. “Are you talking to me?” Harry asked him with a nudge.

Draco leaned closer, smirking. His gaze seemed to be darting back and forth. “I said, found it,” He said quietly so the surrounding fans wouldn’t overhear. Harry followed his eyes to the golden Snitch, which was fluttering inconspicuously below them, about halfway between Ravenclaw’s goals and the center of the pitch. 

“That was quick. Why can’t you do that against us?” Harry teased. 

Draco rolled his eyes irritably. “It’s rather different when you’re in the middle of a constantly moving game, isn’t it?” 

“Well, …yeah. Fair point.” 

Before long, Slytherin had scored five more goals, and the opposing team only one. Ravenclaws in the bleachers screamed for blood - and the blue-and-bronze players reacted accordingly. In a desperate bid for the Quaffle, a thickset Ravenclaw Chaser shoved her opponent, causing him to fall off his broomstick. Luckily, they were close to the ground, so the boy was fine, but Madam Hooch called a penalty for Slytherin, which was effortlessly put away by the strong-armed Riveness. 

“Come on, Ravenclaw! Focus!” Ginny cried, shaking her poster, as Luna clapped in polite support. 

“Ravenclaw looking riled now - Slytherin in possession - nope, practically snatched by Robbins, she’s widely missed by Beater Peterson - she shoots, scores! Seventy to twenty, Slytherin.” 

“He saw it,” Draco said, who had been watching back-and-forth between his successor and the action of the match. “Look, there he goes.” 

Harry turned his attention to the player in question, who suddenly began streaking down towards the bottom of his team’s goalposts. The Ravenclaw Seeker reacted, following his trail immediately, but it was too late. The Slytherin boy raised an arm in triumph, the Snitch glinting cheekily in his dark fist. 

“The Snitch has been caught!” The Hufflepuff announced. “Slytherin wins by two hundred points!” 

The arena erupted into cheers, green-scarfed students jumping up and down at the well-earned victory. The number of goals put Slytherin right behind Gryffindor, putting them back in the running for the Quidditch Cup. Even Draco cracked a genuine smile, nodding in a satisfied manner. “Well done. That was very well done, indeed.” 

Harry was about to agree when he spotted a flash of ruby red across the arena. In a terrifying instant, the Chosen One remembered the animal-masked attackers from only a month before. The color red hadn’t bothered him until now, but seeing it here, outside, where Death Eaters had once stood and where other dangers still lurked…At that moment, Harry felt his underlying trauma rise to the surface and hold him in its cruel, senseless clutches. _We’re not safe. None of us are safe,_ He thought wildly. 

“Potter, what’s the matter?” Draco said, his voice sounding muffled and faraway. It was then that Harry saw the red disappear under the fold of someone’s cloak - the color had been merely lining it. “You look like you’re going to be sick.” 

Harry took great, gasping breaths, the feeling of foolishness mixing with the recent, palpable fear. “I…” He tried to say, but he shuddered instead. “S-sorry,” He muttered. “I thought I saw something…Never mind.” 

Draco looked at him for a minute or two as the crowd in the stands began to disperse. Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Luna waited for them, but Draco gestured for them to go ahead as Harry caught his breath. 

“Did something trigger you?” The blond said quietly, and Harry glanced at him, surprised that he knew what he was experiencing. 

“I-I think so.” 

“Happens to me all the time,” Draco sighed. “Whenever I glimpse something that even resembles the Dark Mark, or if I hear something that sounds like Nagini’s hiss, I panic.” It was his turn to offer his hand to Harry now, but this time he pulled his leather glove off.

Harry took it gratefully, and Draco winced. “Merlin, your hands are freezing! Where are your gloves?” Draco scolded. 

“Er…one of them vanished, so I decided to go without.” 

“One glove _would_ look rather idiotic,” Draco admitted, pulling his other glove off. “Here, wear these.” 

“What? No, I’m fine, it’s a short walk to the castle-”

“ _Wear them,_ or I’ll jinx you.” 

“All right, all right. No need to fuss.” Harry tugged on the gloves, which were surprisingly soft on the inside. 

Still uneasy about the memory trigger, Harry stuck extremely close to Draco, the former’s head practically inches from resting on the latter’s shoulder. Draco gave him a sidelong glance but didn’t say anything about it. 

In fact, he didn’t say anything at all as their shoes crunched through the half-frozen grass. Harry did nothing to break the silence, which was both a blessing and a curse; he needed the lack of conversation for a bit to calm down, but halfway to the dungeons, Harry found his mind wandering to his affection for Draco. He cared for the Slytherin nearly as much as he cared for Hermione and Ron, which was incredible considering how much time they’d spent hating each other’s guts. Perhaps the line between love and hate was razor-thin, after all. 

Not to mention that Harry could no longer ignore that he found Draco attractive. Objectively. At least he thought so… _He’s too pretty for his own good,_ Harry finally admitted to himself, _But I’ve found other people pretty before, and I didn’t feel like dating them. Luna, for example, or Parvati, even Cedric. Hold on…I found Cedric pretty?_ But before Harry had more time to mull this thought over, the two young men found themselves in front of the entrance to the Slytherin dungeons.

“Copperhead,” Draco said at the stone door, which slid open with a muted grating noise. The sound of music, laughter, and chatter immediately drifted out, and the two young wizards exchanged a look. “Party time,” Draco said tepidly, and they walked into the vibrant common room. 

• • •

As it turned out, Slytherins were experts at throwing Quidditch afterparties. A couple of seventh and sixth years snuck in two whole cases of firewhiskey, leading to some concerned older students shooing the young ones off to bed. A handful of wizard chess fanatics - Ron included - started a mini-tournament on the longest table in the room. Owen Ibori, a Muggleborn Hufflepuff, introduced a game called spin the bottle to some intrigued teens. An enchanted gramophone floated above the scene, playing a selection from the Weird Sisters. People danced until they tired and sat down to eat cake filched from the kitchens. 

Harry had a surprisingly good time not only with his fellow eighth years but the Slytherins as well. With alcohol in their veins and a Quidditch win under their belts, students who had actively snubbed Harry in their earlier years were more than willing to chat and dance with him. 

Amidst the youthful chaos, Draco Malfoy had vanished. Harry tried not to worry about it too much; many people periodically left from the party, usually to make out with their significant other. Harry suspected that Hermione and Ron, though both claiming to go to bed, had gone off to do the same after a couple hours. It was thus that the Boy Who Lived found himself alone and tipsy at midnight. 

Needing a break from the bodies and loud noises, Harry wandered out of the common room to a short corridor with large windows that peered into the Black Lake. Ornately carved arches ribbed the space every few feet, creating a mysterious shipwreck-like effect. Sitting against one of the curved pillars was none other than Draco Malfoy, holding a quarter-full bottle of firewhiskey and staring into the moonlit water. 

“Potter.” The Slytherin issued the silent invitation without glancing at him. Harry walked over and slid down next to him.

“You’ve put away quite a lot,” Harry said, nodding at the bottle.

Malfoy scowled. “It was already half-empty when I found it.” 

“Ah. Then someone else must’ve put away quite a lot.” 

Draco smiled then, the second real smile he had shown that day. Harry meant to glance down at that entrancing smile but discovered that he continued staring at the other’s lips long after the smile had faded. 

“Having fun, then?” 

“Oh!” Harry’s face felt warm, but then he realized Draco was referring to the party. “Yes. I was, actually.” He looked up into Draco’s pale eyes, which were reflecting the deep blue-green light of the lake. 

“Was?” Somewhat uncharacteristically, Draco ran a hand through his perfectly arranged blond hair, mussing it up the tiniest bit. “You got tired of it?” 

“To be perfectly honest, I think it would’ve been more fun if you were there.” Harry’s head spun, but whether it was from the alcohol or the fact that Draco’s sleeves were rolled up, he hadn’t the foggiest idea. 

“Such a flatterer. I’m blushing,” Draco said, deadpan, but his pale cheeks did seem to darken a bit. 

Dizzily, Harry wondered what his lips would taste like. Then he realized that this was not an ordinary thought at all. _How can one man be this amount of gorgeous?_ Harry thought. Perhaps he was going crazy or dreaming. _But Ginny was this amount of gorgeous, too,_ Harry countered himself. _Why are they both so beautiful?_ His heart rode on a swing, fluttering between the memory of a girl he once loved and this impossible boy. Then a word hit Harry like a truck, and something started to make a little bit of sense. _Oh, fuck it._

“Malfoy, I think I’m bisexual.” 

Draco’s eyebrows shot up so high, they nearly disappeared. “Do you now?” He said. If Harry had been a few degrees soberer, he might have noticed the quaver in Draco’s voice or the way the Slytherin leaned in slightly. 

“I don’t know,” Harry murmured, confused, and frustrated with himself. All he knew was that Draco’s hair always smelled inexplicably of gardenias, and he liked wearing his gloves, and he had grown to appreciate his cutting wit. All he knew was that their lips lingered only a few heavenly millimeters apart, a gap that could be closed by one desperate push-

As if reigning himself in, Draco suddenly pulled back and gasped soundlessly. “It’s getting late,” He said monotonously. “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting pretty tired.”

The world came back into focus. On one side lounged an arrogant, painfully pureblooded former Death Eater. On the other sat the Chosen One, vanquisher of the Dark Lord. “Oh. Yeah, of course. I’m getting rather tired as well.” It wasn’t a lie, and Harry found himself yawning. 

Draco stood up, bottle swishing in his grip. “Well, good night.” And he walked resolutely away, leaving behind a breathless, perplexed young wizard who knew more about Potions than what just happened. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the longest chapters yet, though it encompasses little more than a day. The content explores Harry's and Draco's relationship deeper than ever but doesn't hesitate to focus a bit on the Golden Trio's friendship as well. I like to think of "Swing" as a turning point for the main plotline - after this, changes will start to progress more rapidly than before.


	13. Little Things

The conversation Harry had with Draco faded away into a hazy fever dream. Harry knew that there was something significant about those few minutes, but he just couldn’t put his finger on it.

Despite his curiosity, Harry could not linger on that night; academic deadlines were fast approaching, and he and Ron found themselves scrabbling to turn in unfinished dissertations and look for the odd missing worksheet.

“It’s a lucky thing we’re exempt from mid-year exams, or you’d never finish,” Hermione scolded one evening as she added writing to her color-coded notes. “And lucky that only the thesis for the extended essay is due before holiday.”

“ _Accio_ history worksheet!” Ron cried, only half-listening, and the paper zoomed into his hand.

“Did you say thesis?” Harry said as he aimed his wand at an armchair. “ _Lignum mutatio_ ,” He intoned, and the armchair turned into a cello, a matching bow clattering to the ground.

“Nice one,” Hermione said appraisingly, then continued, “Yes, for the extended essay. You know, the really important paper that’s due at the end of the year for our class?”

“Oh right. What’s the topic for that?” Harry picked up the bow and dragged it across the strings. The instrument let out the appropriate noise, but the strings all played the same note. Harry frowned and waved his wand at the cello, turning it back into an armchair.

“You’re supposed to make up your _own_ topic. That’s the whole point.”

Harry sighed and looked to his best friend. “Have you written a thesis, Ron?”

“Of course, mate. Last night. I talked to Professor Dahlia and she told me to pick a subject I knew a lot about, so I’m writing the paper on cursed objects.”

“Brilliant. So, what should I write about? How to survive the Killing Curse?” Harry said bluntly. Then he paused. “Actually…here’s an idea. Maybe I could do something on the history of other Unforgiveable Curses. That shouldn’t be too hard to research.”

“You’re going to need more than an idea to turn in, Harry,” Hermione warned.

“Yeah, I know.” Harry transfigured the armchair again, determined to get it perfect.

That Friday, the Trio had completed most of their work and started to relax a bit. They looked forward to the weekend, when McGonagall had decided to give fifth years and older a Hogsmeade trip as a de-stresser before end of term. 

The eighth years’ last class of the day was Herbology; during Defense Against the Dark Arts, the only other class they had all together, Professor Dahlia gave them a quiz and Harry hadn’t yet had a chance to speak with Draco. That week, he barely spent any free time in the Slytherin common room, but when Harry asked if he was okay, he always responded with a resounding “yes.”

As the small group traipsed off to greenhouse four, Harry was relieved to spot Draco’s gleaming blond hair bobbing in the sea of students’ heads. The Gryffindor found himself walking a bit faster to catch up; Ron and Hermione, holding hands behind him, were more than willing to let him wander off.

Malfoy muttered to himself, one pale hand resting on his chin in a thoughtful gesture. He didn’t look up until Harry was right next to him, giving the young man a polite nod.

“Afternoon, Potter.” The class shuffled into the greenhouse, Hermione and Ron standing on the other side of a plant covered table.

“Hey, Malfoy. Good day at school?”

“Could be better…something’s been frustrating me lately. And you?”

“I’m fine. What’s-”

Harry broke off as Professor Pomona Sprout waved her hands for silence at the front of the greenhouse. She wore her flyway grey hair in a bun today, a pair of goggles with dark-tinted lenses perched upon it.

“You’re going to want to pay very close attention, students,” She said seriously, indicating the plants with a tilt of her head. The vegetation was surprisingly docile compared to the rest of the specimens in greenhouse four; kept in wicker or steel cages, most of the plants either thrashed about or made menacing noises. The plants on the table, however, were simply pretty to look at. Delicate, almost translucent rose-gold leaves grew in clumps on long stems that appeared white and soft.

“Do _not_ touch the leaves,” Professor Sprout warned, and the students stepped back at the firmness in her tone. “The oils in your skin may set them off. Put on a pair of gloves while I explain what we’re doing.” She pulled out, from underneath the table, a wooden box filled with pairs of tough dragon-hide gloves. The class edged carefully around the table and tugged the gloves on. “We’re harvesting the leaves of _pulchra flammae_ and doing so is a delicate process. Pair up, and let’s see…” The professor counted their number and added, “And there should be one group of three.”

Draco and Harry, seeing as they were already together, stood next to each other once they had their gloves on. Draco eyed the plant with an interested expression, bending down slightly to look at the underside of the leaves.

“ _Pulchra flammae,_ also known as Dragon’s Tongue, is a rare species bred in Switzerland,” Professor Sprout lectured. “No need to take notes, this is only background information,” She added, but Harry could see Hermione’s quill was still moving. “I doubt any of you will come into contact with it, except perhaps if you pursue a career in Potions.” At that, Draco’s pale eyes looked up from the plant and his gaze meandered curiously to his teacher. “The leaves of Dragon’s Tongue are extremely flammable and have explosive properties. The only way to collect them is gently, by hand. Gather ‘round, now.” The students shuffled in and Professor Sprout bent a stem forward to demonstrate. “See the little bulge where the leaves and stem join? Pull them apart, just there. Weasley, hand me that jar, please. Here we are.” She dropped the rosy leaf into a small, glass jam jar. “All right, class. Use two hands. Your partner will assist you to reach the individual leaves properly.”

“I’ll do the picking, Potter,” Draco said quickly. “You’ll blow us all to pieces.”

“Ha ha,” Harry replied, deadpan. But he pulled a stem aside obligingly.

Draco, after hesitating a moment, pointed a wand at the glass jar and muttered, “ _Gemino._ ” With a crystalline clink, the jar duplicated itself. He carefully plucked a few leaves off, placed them in the jar, and screwed it closed. Draco glanced at Professor Sprout to make sure she wasn’t watching, then slipped the jar into the large pocket of his robes.

“What’re you up to?” Harry said suspiciously, continuing to hold the stem still.

“An experiment,” Draco said vaguely, reaching for more leaves. “I’ll tell you later.”

A loud bang suddenly startled the whole class. A trail of smoke issued from the ground, and a very surprised Seamus Finnigan wiped soot off his face. “Not again,” He groaned.

Professor Sprout immediately whipped her wand out. “Nobody move!” She cried, and the class froze. “How many leaves did you drop, Finnigan?”

“Just the one,” Seamus replied sheepishly. His partner, Dean, was trying desperately not to laugh.

“Really, _do_ be careful,” Professor Sprout insisted. “Five points from Gryffindor and be sure it doesn’t happen again.”

A couple Gryffindors gave Seamus frustrated looks, but most of the class sighed with relief that they hadn’t all been killed.

After nearly an hour of tense leaf-picking, Draco’s and Harry’s jar was nearly full. They made a bit more conversation, but mostly worked in silence, focusing on the task at hand. By the end of class, the pair had switched places twice and were covered in a sheen of sweat from the stifling warmth of the greenhouse.

“Goodness, I wonder what sort of potions those would be used in?” Hermione said breathlessly once the class had left for the safety of the outdoors. Seeing Hermione and Ron walking with Harry, Draco began to sidle off, but Harry tugged at the Slytherin’s sleeve.

“Ron’s not going to shout at you, I promise.” Harry said quietly.

“Of course, he’s not. He hasn’t in ages,” Draco replied haughtily, but he still looked worried and uncomfortable. 

“Probably nothing we’d ever make,” Ron said, in response to his girlfriend’s question. “I dunno why Slughorn even wants them.”

“They’re explosive, and very sensitive…” Hermione mused, “Perhaps they’re needed for heat-inducing kinds of potions. You know, how Fire Mint is used to make Pepperup Potions.”

“On the contrary,” Draco interjected suddenly, and Hermione gave a start, only then realizing that he had been there in the first place. “Fire Mint doesn’t explode if you drop it, does it? Only when crushed and stewed does it release any sort of heat. Dragon’s Tongue, on the other hand, has properties that manifest right away. Plants and animal parts with such inherent properties are not used to change a potion’s qualities, but rather its physical nature. I expect Slughorn is making a potion that already exists, and using this plant to made it spread faster, or even weaponize it.” Draco’s silver eyes were practically glittering with the possibilities. “Weaponizing potions…” He murmured, half to himself. “I never thought about that, but it’s certainly doable, isn’t it?”

The other three young wizards were staring at him as if he had gone mad. His tangent had obviously gone right over Harry’s and Ron’s heads. Only Hermione appeared to have the faintest inkling of what Draco was talking about, but even she looked perplexed.

“I know what to try now!” Draco exclaimed. “Oh, this has been so enlightening. Thank you, Granger.” He hurried away into the snow-dusted afternoon without so much as a goodbye.

Ron was the first to break their stunned silence. “‘Thank you, Granger’?” He repeated. “Harry, did you hex Malfoy or something? I’ve never heard him sound so nice. Or smart.”

“I’ve heard him kind of like this before,” Harry said, completely missing Ron’s jab. “But yeah, he was strangely amped up.” Harry knew Draco was clever, especially at Potions, but never before had he seen the Slytherin speak so intelligently about a subject he was obviously passionate about. It was inspiring to watch.

Hermione seemed the most impressed at Malfoy’s outburst, perhaps because it was one of the few times someone had challenged her intellectually. “Harry, could you ask Draco along with us tomorrow?”

“Er…yeah, I suppose I could.”

“Malfoy with us in Hogsmeade?” Ron sighed. “Why?”

“Didn’t we agree to be friendly towards him?” Hermione pointed out. “Come on, maybe he’ll be more fun to hang out with outside of school,” She said - Ron snorted at the word _fun_ \- “And you have to admit, that potions stuff was quite insightful.”

“It was kind of interesting,” Ron admitted. “All right, fine. But if he stops being Nice Malfoy and calls you names, I’ll hex him.”

Hermione laughed and nudged him in the arm. Ron caught Harry’s eye and mouthed, _I’m not kidding._ His protectiveness of Hermione was frankly adorable. But possibly necessary, Harry thought grimly. He could only hope Draco’s current good mood and Ron’s reasonableness would keep them from each other’s throats the next afternoon.

• • •

Icy winds and powdery snow kept most Hogwartians inside, but others felt the promise of hot butterbeer and a chance to get away from teachers’ prying eyes was well worth venturing through the weather. Deciding that only a full blizzard could keep them away from Honeydukes and The Three Broomsticks, Hermione, Ron, and Harry decided to press on with the visit. 

“Going to Hogsmeade today?” Harry asked Draco that morning after they both returned to the dorm from breakfast. 

“Haven’t decided yet,” Draco responded, pulling up the comforter of his bed. He meticulously straightened the pillow, smoothed the blankets, and tied back the emerald curtains. “The weather is looking rather dreadful for that.” 

“Hermione, Ron, and I are going. And we would like for you to come.” 

“Oh, really? Weasley said that?” Draco scoffed.

“Well, _I_ would like for you to come, though it was Hermione’s idea. And Ron said he wouldn’t mind.” 

Draco sighed exaggeratingly, but he pulled on his black coat and began to button it. “All right. I don’t have much to do, anyway.” 

Harry grinned in triumph as he wriggled into his own many layers. He opened his trunk for other warm clothing, then spotted the pair of jet leather gloves Draco had lent him. “Here, I forgot to give these back,” Harry said, holding them up. 

Draco paused his scarf-tying to ask, “Did you find your lost pair?” 

“Er…no. But I’m sure they’ll turn up at some point.”

“Do those fit you?”

“Yeah.”

“Keep them,” Draco said airily. He whipped out gloves from inside his coat’s pocket; they were identical to the borrowed ones, only olive-colored. “I have these.” 

Footsteps at the door halted their banter. Ron poked his head in, his reddish-orange hair poking out from beneath a woolen cap made lovingly by Mrs. Weasley. 

“Hey, Harry, do you…” Ron trailed off when he saw Draco, and he assumed a more guarded expression. “Good morning, Malfoy,” He said with some difficulty. 

“Weasley,” Draco replied curtly. 

“Harry, do you have a spare jacket? Hermione says she won’t get cold later, but we all know how that goes…” 

“Yeah, sure.” Harry grabbed a too-small knit sweater from inside his trunk and tossed it to his best friend. 

“See you in a bit,” Ron said, more to Harry than Draco, and he sidled out of the room. 

A few minutes later, the four students traipsed out into the freshly-fallen snow, the ends of Harry’s and Ron’s scarves flapping in the wind. They walked as quickly as possible through the cold, heads bent, and voices silent. 

Soon, Hogsmeade came into view; a few Hogwarts students and other civilians walked through the snow as well, each heading for the warmer shelter of the many stores and restaurants. The village had gotten a head start on Christmas decorations. Holly wound itself magically around streetlamps, glowing wreaths hung in windows, and one enchanted snowman outside of The Three Broomsticks waved at people in the street. 

“Honeydukes?” Ron shouted over the wind, and the other three nodded. 

A blast of heated air hit the quartet as they walked into the sweetshop, bombarding them with the scent of luscious caramel, sharp peppermint, fruity syrups, and baked fudge. Twenty or so teens milled about, sampling magical candies and making goody bags to bring back or give as Christmas gifts. 

“Hermione, let’s buy some Toothflossing Stringmints for your parents,” Ron suggested, “And maybe I’ll get Canary Puffs for Bill and Charlie, they miss those…”

The couple pushed through the crowd of students, leaving Harry and Draco to wander along the colorful aisles. The pair of them stopped by a case of chocolate figurines that walked and talked with one another. A white chocolate ballerina spun on marzipan toes, a dog with a peppermint nose chased a dark cat, and a pair of chocolate children tossed a cake ball back and forth. 

“So, what made you run off yesterday?” Harry said. 

Draco, who seemed quite taken with a milk chocolate squid, took a moment to answer. “I _did_ say I would tell you what I’m working on. I was brainstorming topics to write about for my essay. Only yesterday did I come up with something perfect.” 

“Which is what, exactly?” 

“A way to weaponize potions,” Draco said as the squid clicked its beak at them. “Potions have always been seen as passive, you see. They’re often overlooked as an inferior study of magic. The Dragon’s Tongue got me thinking: what if potions’ potential could be unlocked in a more powerful, noticeable fashion?” 

“Sounds interesting,” Harry said truthfully. Both of them had been staring absently at the chocolate squid, which caused it to show off by making various shapes with its pale brown tentacles. 

Draco leaned over the counter to speak to one of the Honeydukes wizards. “Do these melt?” He asked, indicating the figurines. 

The wizard, uniformed in a purple-and-orange striped apron, looked affronted at the question. “Of course not! They never melt until they’re in your mouth and stay animated for up to a week after buying.” 

“I’ll take the squid,” Draco decided. He poured out a few coins onto the marbled counter, and before long, the edible cephalopod twisted happily in his hand. 

“Cute,” Harry said. Draco held out the chocolate creature to him, and the squid latched onto Harry’s wrist with ten playful tentacles. 

“I couldn’t possibly eat it while it’s moving,” Draco lamented as the squid peeked into Harry’s glove and gurgled curiously. 

“Does the ferocious Draco Malfoy have a soft spot for small animals?” Harry teased.

“Oh, hush,” Draco grumbled, scooping the chocolate figurine from his friend’s hand and placing it with extraordinary gentleness into his own pocket. 

After a bit more wandering around, Harry heard all-too-familiar bickering near a section dedicated to licorice - Licorice Snaps, self-tying licorice bootlaces, fruit-shaped licorice, and even Muggle assorted licorice stood in jars and boxes on the shelves. Harry, who had no great love for licorice, was slightly put-off by the fragrant candy. 

“Set him straight, would you, Harry?” Hermione pleaded as Harry and Draco approached. “Ron couldn’t remember what kind of candy Percy likes, so he decided to get him licorice, because-”

“ _Everyone_ likes licorice,” Ron finished. He held a tin of snarling Snaps and a box of bootlaces. 

“I _hate_ licorice,” Hermione said. “And you do too, don’t you, Harry?” 

“Well, I’d rather not eat it, but-”

“Exactly! Just get him chocolate, Ronald. Everyone likes chocolate, not this…stuff.” 

“But I can’t remember if its Charlie or Percy that doesn’t like chocolate,” Ron defended himself, “And not liking chocolate is stranger than liking licorice.” 

“Licorice is my favorite candy,” Draco offered unexpectedly. 

“See?” Ron’s face brightened, and he gave Draco a friendly nod. “Malfoy gets it.” 

“Get Percy something neutral, like gummy worms,” Draco continued, jerking his head to indicate a barrel of rainbow-hued, translucent candies that writhed. “You can’t go wrong with gummy worms.” 

Ron gave Draco an appreciative once-over. “Huh. It’s a good thing you came along.” The redhead placed the boxes back, he and Hermione going to the barrel to scoop out the live, squirming gummy worms. 

Harry took a box of assorted licorice, checked the price, and walked towards the register. 

“I thought you didn’t like licorice,” Draco remarked. 

“I don’t. These are for you.” 

“Potter, I can buy my own, you know.” 

“Consider it an early Christmas gift,” Harry said, handing the cashier a couple silver pieces. “And if it makes you feel better, I’ll take a tentacle or two from the squid when you eat it. We’ll be even.” 

“Oh, fine,” Draco relented, taking the box of licorice when Harry held it out. Then, “Thank you.” 

“No problem.” 

Laden with sweets, the quartet stomped once more through the snow. Flurries, tossed about by the strengthening wind, danced in their faces. They headed through the nearest door, The Three Broomsticks, wanting to spend as little time in the cold as possible. 

Half of Hogsmeade seemed to have the same idea. Raucous laughter and cheerful conversation ebbed from every packed table, which was tended to by a small fleet of the waitstaff. Madam Rosmerta, recognizing the Golden Trio right away, bustled over to them as soon as she finished pouring someone’s drink. 

“Harry, Ron, Hermione, so nice to see you all,” She said, beaming, then her gaze fell upon Draco. Though the Slytherin had surreptitiously tried to hide his face in his scarf, but the trademark Malfoy silver eyes and platinum blond hair were unmistakable. “And you’ve brought a Death Eater into my establishment.” Madam Rosmerta stated, eyes narrowing.

“ _Former_ Death Eater,” Harry said, stepping slightly in front of Draco in a protective gesture. “We’ll vouch for him,” He added pointedly; Hermione and Ron nodded quickly. 

Madam Rosmerta swallowed nervously, but she led them to a small booth near the bathroom. As soon as they were seated and she had left, Draco nudged Harry with his elbow.

“What?” 

“Don’t think I didn’t catch that bit of gallantry back there.” 

“Er…Bit of what?” Harry said innocently. 

“The whole, ‘oh, I’ll defend him, he’s not dangerous’ business,” Draco said. “It’s fine, I’m used to people acting like they’re afraid to have me around. They aren’t _really_ scared. Although they have reason to be,” He added bitterly. 

“Oh, that wasn’t - erm…I didn’t mean to impose on you…”

Hermione, who, along with Ron had been watching this exchange with a mix of amusement and interest, suddenly said loudly, “Looks like Madam Rosmerta forgot to ask us what we wanted. We ought to get some drinks ourselves. Four butterbeers, yes? Come along, Ron.” She cheerily dragged her boyfriend by the arm and shot Harry a meaningful look - only, Harry couldn’t discern the meaning she had meant to convey. 

Draco leaned in and waited until the couple was out of earshot. “Are you going to tell them?” He asked, lowering his voice. 

“Tell them what?”

Draco rolled his eyes as if it was painfully obvious. “You know…that you’re bisexual.” 

Harry’s face warmed. _So he hasn’t forgotten our conversation,_ he realized. “I only said I _think_ I’m bisexual,” Harry corrected, “And I was a bit drunk that night.” 

Draco sighed. “Potter, you fancied Cho Chang in fourth year, correct?” 

“Yes, I- wait. How did you know that?” 

“ _Everyone_ knew that. You kept making eyes at her during the start-of-term feast. And all subsequent feasts.” 

“That’s kind of scary that you remember that, Malfoy…” 

“Whatever. I’m an observant person. So observant, in fact, that I noticed you staring at Cedric Diggory in the exact same way. Tell me, Potter, did you find Diggory attractive?” 

“Well…yeah. But so did the whole school.” 

“All the _girls_ did,” Draco corrected. “And me,” He added as an afterthought. Harry started at this new piece of information, but barely had enough time to process it before the Slytherin pressed on. “Tell you what. Let’s test your ‘whole school’ theory, Potter, shall we?” He nodded at Ron and Hermione, who were returning with two tankards of butterbeer each. 

“Harry and I have a question for you both,” Draco said, sliding a tankard over to himself, then one to Harry. “Did you find Cedric Diggory attractive?” 

“Yes,” Hermione said at once, and she blushed. “Not that he was my type, of course.” 

“Turns out you actually had a thing for stubborn redheads,” Ron quipped, and Hermione laughed, bumping her shoulder against him in an affectionate gesture. 

“And you, Weasley?” Draco prompted. 

“I dunno if he was attractive or not. We were both blokes.” Ron took a long sip of his butterbeer and put his arm around Hermione’s shoulders. “Anyways, ‘Mione, we’re all dying to know how far along you are on your essay.” 

Hermione’s face lit up immediately. “Oh, not far, only a couple rolls of parchment. I feel my introduction’s a bit too convoluted, though, I may have to rewrite it. It’s difficult fitting all the perspectives in, you see…” 

As she talked, Draco raised his tankard to his lips, shielding his face from the couple across the table. He gave Harry a questioning glance that clearly said, _aren’t you going to tell them?_

Harry shook his head once and buried his reddening face into his glass of butterbeer.

After another round of butterbeer, the howling wind was audible even through the tightly closed door of The Three Broomsticks. Hermione fretted that a real storm would pick up soon, so the four students left with their scarves wound tightly and hats secured. They bent their heads against the snow, pushing steadily through the snowdrifts that grew bigger and bigger the closer they got to the castle. 

Only when the quartet reached the Slytherin common room did they take off their numerous layers. Hermione and Ron settled by the armchair, the former whispering something in the latter’s ear. Harry wiped the melted snow off his glasses while Draco folded his scarf and gloves, putting both in the large pockets of his black overcoat. 

“Thanks for having me along,” The Slytherin said stiffly, gathering up his clothes. Hermione gave Ron a sharp nudge, and the redhead cleared his throat. 

“What are your plans for the holiday, Malfoy?” Ron asked casually. 

“Staying here, I expect,” Draco said evenly, but Harry could see the bitter look in his eyes; of course, Draco would stay at Hogwarts if his own family didn’t welcome him. 

“I don’t suppose,” Ron began slowly, “You’d like to stay with my family? I assume Harry and Hermione are coming as usual, and Ginny invited Luna for Christmas dinner. So I figured - I mean, Hermione and I figured - that you might as well come, too. Anyway, I don’t think Mum will mind adopting another kid for a bit. The more, the merrier, you know.” 

“What?” Draco looked mystified. 

“Oh, ‘the more, the merrier,’ my mum says it all the time-”

“No, I mean, why invite me? My father…he called your family blood traitors.” 

Ron shifted uneasily. “Well, there’s that. But in the spirit of Christmas, I decided to let bygones be bygones. And anyway, you’re not your father. You’re Draco.” 

It was the first time Ron had addressed Draco by his first name, and he looked slightly awkward doing it. But Draco’s expression had become pleased at Ron’s last statement; so had Harry’s, in fact - he was delighted that Ron had finally accepted Draco as more than just another untrustworthy Malfoy. 

“Very well, then,” Draco agreed. “I look forward to it.” And with that, he turned to go to the boys’ dormitory, wearing a relieved smile that only Harry could see. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, I think I may have gone a bit overboard with the imagery - but illustrating a scene is just too much fun. There are more interactions between the various characters, and their dynamic really starts to come into view.


	14. Innocent Blood

The Hogwarts train was crowded with students from all houses heading home for the holidays. Owls hooted curiously, and children chattered excitedly as they settled into their chosen compartments. 

Draco, at the invitation of the Golden Trio, had joined them, along with Ginny and Luna. When Ron informed his sister that Draco was staying over at the Burrow, Ginny merely looked pensive. 

“Dad might be a bit put out,” She warned Malfoy, “But Mum will calm him down, I expect. Did you send an owl ahead?” She asked her brother, who mumbled sheepishly. “Honestly, Ronald,” Ginny said exasperatedly, “I’ll see if I can get Pig to give them the message.” She left her seat next to Luna as the train began to move, coal-black smoke drifting past the window. 

A few moments of silence ensued. Hermione and Ron, sitting across from each other, gave Luna a glance; the blonde-haired girl was watching Draco with bright, curious eyes. Draco, who was trapped between Harry and the window, pointedly avoided her gaze. Harry could tell by the tension in Draco’s shoulders that he was uncomfortable, being the outsider in a tightly-knit group. 

“You’re all friends now?” Luna asked casually. 

Draco crossed one leg over the other. “Sort of.” 

“That’s cool,” Luna said. The train moved in earnest now, the Black Lake and Hogwarts castle growing smaller and smaller in the window. “I never thanked you, by the way,” She added, “For how you helped me at your parents’ house. So, thank you, Draco Malfoy.”

Harry, Hermione, and Ron all exchanged meaningful looks. Of course, they remembered what had happened at Malfoy Manor the previous year, but this was their first time hearing about anything in particular happening between Draco and Luna. 

“How did he help you, exactly?” Harry asked carefully. Draco’s expression had become deliberately blank. 

“Draco looked after Ollivander and me when the others wouldn’t. He snuck us more food, gave us light when we could, and talked to us like we were equals.” A shadow of pain suddenly darkened Luna’s face, but she cleared it away with a serene smile. “You were never truly on the Dark Side, were you?” 

Draco met Luna’s eyes then. He opened his mouth to answer.

The sliding glass door of the compartment suddenly opened with a bang. Ginny’s face was slightly flushed, her chest puffed out in righteous anger. 

“Someone’s owl pooped on me!” She cried. “Normally, I don’t mind a bit of bird poop, but look-” Ginny turned her head to reveal a sticky white substance in her hair. 

Ron began to laugh uproariously, sending everyone else into giggles. Even Draco bit back a grin. 

Ginny chuckled too, swept away by the ridiculousness of the situation. “Okay, it’s kind of funny,” She admitted, “But, Luna - urgh, it’s on my robes now - Hermione, someone help, please!” 

Hermione took Ginny by the arm and set her down immediately to perform a cleaning charm. “There,” Hermione said, “Gone already, no need to-”

The train abruptly stopped with a lurch. Hermione, who had been perched on the edge of her seat to better reach Ginny’s hair, was launched into Ron’s lap. They quickly untangled their limbs, blushing furiously. 

Two flashes of ruby red streaked by the window. Panic seized Harry in his merciless clutches, and he immediately pulled out his wand. 

“It’s them,” Harry said shakily, and everyone else’s face took on the same mask of fear. Only Draco looked confused, and he tapped his friend impatiently on the shoulder. 

“Why so cryptic, Potter?” Draco asked, then he frowned. “You don’t mean Death Eaters, do you?” 

Harry shook his head and said quickly, “You weren’t at school when they came. Three wizards attacked Hogwarts, but they fled when they saw me. Professor Dahlia reckons they’re Thai. I don’t know why they’d be back.” 

“Red robes,” Draco said suddenly, “Red robes, that’s what triggered you, isn’t it? I thought that’s what you saw during-”

One, two, three, heavy thumps at the far end of the train. The six young witches and wizards fell silent at once. Paralyzed, Harry strained his ears for footsteps, but the visitors made no attempts to be sneaky. 

“Harry Potter.” The amplified voice sounded like that of an older female. “Harry Potter, we wish to speak to you. Unarmed.” 

“The Cloak, Harry!” Hermione hissed. Harry’s limbs felt as if they moved by their own accord as he opened the small trunk under his seat and pulled out the shimmering Invisibility Cloak. He had kept it near him out of habit but never thought it would be necessary again. 

“We have to hide you somehow,” Ginny whispered, and Harry realized what they were suggesting. 

“Hold on,” Harry said, the Cloak clutched in his fear-white fist, “No way. Even if they’re really unarmed, there’s no way I’m letting any of you risk your lives for me again.” 

The intruders’ footsteps were audible now; they couldn’t be more than twenty feet away. Hermione gave Harry a pleading look, but it was Draco who acted. 

The Slytherin pulled Harry close and whispered swiftly into his ear. “I know how to counter Dark Magic, Potter. I’ll stay concealed in case they make you give up your wand.” Without waiting for a reply, Draco gently but forcefully removed the Invisibility Cloak from Harry’s grip and draped it over himself. 

Hermione gave them both a panicked look, but it was too late to change anything. Three masked strangers, clothed in crimson, peered into the compartment. The one in front, whose face was hidden with the visage of a serpent, slid open the door slowly. 

“Found you,” The strange witch stated. Her voice was soothing, almost grandmotherly, but the students still stared at her with a mix of horror and anger. She spread her empty hands in a gesture of peace, and the two others behind her did the same. “Hogwarts students…leave us. We wish to speak to him alone, the boy they call the Chosen One.” 

“Hardly a _boy_ anymore,” Ginny said boldly, holding her wand out defensively. “And why should we do what you say?” 

The serpent-masked witch inclined her head towards the youngest Weasley. “Trust us, young ones,” She said evenly, “We do not wish to harm you. But if you do not do as we say, we will not hesitate to spill innocent blood.”

• • •

The only comfort to Harry as his friends filed out was the fact that his necklace remained cool against his skin. Even Draco staying, his wand no doubt at the ready, gave Harry little solace; he prayed that the intruders would not find the Slytherin, as they would likely kill him.

The witch took her time getting settled on the bench across from Harry, keeping her wandless hands in view as she arranged her robes in a more comfortable fashion. The other two wizards, the rabbit- and hog-faced ones from the previous encounter, stood stone-still outside the compartment, only moving their heads to look up and down the hallway for wandering students.

Finally, the witch sighed contentedly, rolling up her sleeves to reveal deeply tanned, wrinkled skin. She leaned forward, letting her short gray hair spill over her shoulders.

“Put your wand down,” The witch commanded, and Harry did so reluctantly, placing it right next to his leg on the seat. “Do you know who we are, Chosen One?”

“No idea,” Harry said, trying to sound casual. His fear had subsided somewhat; the witch wasn’t actively trying to kill him yet, which was a start. And he felt better with her in front of him, instead of as an unseen, faraway enemy. But her eyes, shining through two holes in the beautifully carved wooden mask, were unnerving. They glowed with an unnatural shade of violet and appeared to be fractured in several spots as though tiny people in her head had been banging on them to break out.

“You should not,” The witch said, satisfied. “But you should know what we stand for. Harry Potter - you of all people know the dangers of corrupt government, yes? The whole world knows how easily the Dark Lord’s followers penetrated the already crumbling Ministry. They began hunts for the filthy-blooded and those who stood by your side.” That bit sounded rehearsed, Harry observed, but she pressed on confidently.

“In our native Thailand, we have a similar ruthless government. But they need no twisted leader to make them evil. They burn entire villages to the ground, murder children, and rape pureblood women in the name of preserving wizardkind.” The venom in her voice was unmistakable. “My people are tired of witnessing this injustice, so we come from across the sea for assistance. What say you, vanquisher of the Dark Lord? Will you help us?”

It took a few minutes for Harry to process what the witch had told him. His mouth had gone dry as a million thoughts whizzed through his head. His first instinct was to cry “yes”; in another circumstance, he would have been honored to go to a foreign country and battle evildoers. But he couldn’t trust the red-robed stranger, not when he had battled similarly deceiving foes so recently.

“Take off your mask,” Harry said defiantly, “So at least I know who I’m speaking to.”

The witch’s shattered eyes twinkled, but she made no move to remove her false face. “We will not,” She replied, “And you must respect our decision not to do so. We ask again, will you join us?”

Harry took a deep breath, hoping to high heaven that Draco was ready to retaliate if the witch did not like his answer. “No,” He said firmly. “I won’t go with people I don’t know. Especially if they attack the school I care about. A school that I still go to, by the way,” He added.

The stranger bowed her head. “We understand. You should finish your education and think on our offer.” She stood with a rustling of crimson fabric. “But we have faith that we will meet you again. Even if fate’s hand must drag you.” She put her hands together, palms facing inward, held them to her chest, and bowed deeply. “Farewell, young one.” The witch knocked twice on the glass to alert her colleagues, and all three of them vanished at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter chapter than usual...It does include transition scenes, after all. I find that scenes, where the characters move from one place to another, tend to be short and fast-paced. That is the nature of travel, after all.


	15. Weathering the Storm

As soon as the strange, red-robed wizards had left, Draco whipped off the Invisibility Cloak, giving Harry a look of concern before they both headed out of the compartment to fetch the others. The confrontation left Harry and his friends shaken, but they were strangely the only ones who felt that way. 

The trolley witch soon passed their compartment, offering snacks as usual and looking none the worse for wear. “Sorry about the delay, dears,” She said kindly. “Spot of trouble with the engine, but the driver says we’ll arrive at the station well before dark.” 

“Confunded, I expect,” Hermione sighed after the trolley witch left. 

After consulting with the next compartment down, Hermione learned that the other Hogwarts students had been similarly bewitched. According to them, the train had simply broken down and was repaired within a half hour without a hitch. 

“But why go to all the trouble concealing themselves?” Ginny wondered aloud. “Especially if their cause is supposedly good…”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Harry said grimly. “They were lying.” 

“So, what did they want you for?” 

But Ginny’s question went unanswered, and the six students spent the remainder of the train ride in uneasy silence. The arrival at King’s Cross did little to quell their worries. Only once the group had Apparated just outside the Burrow, trunks and cages in hand, did Harry begin to relax. The house’s many lopsided roofs were covered in a fine powder of snow.

Draco eyed the towering, haphazard structure with a mix of criticism and bewilderment. The Weasley’s abode was vastly different from his own family’s lavish estate, and Ron detected Draco’s instinctual disdain at once. 

“One word, Malfoy…”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Draco said in an unreadable tone. “You invited me here, after all,” He added, which seemed to satisfy Ron. 

Mrs. Weasley came briskly from the front door, positively beaming at the sight of them. She embraced Harry, Hermione, Luna, and her own children - “Mum!” Ron protested - before stopping at Draco. Her expression became guarded, and Harry looked between his friend and Molly Weasley apprehensively, recalling that she had killed his aunt less than a year ago.

“I received Ginny’s note,” She said slowly, “And I was quite surprised to hear that Harry had befriended you.” Draco swallowed and didn’t dare to speak. “But know this, Draco Malfoy. Any friend of Harry’s remains safe under my roof.” 

Relief broke over Draco’s face like ocean waves. “Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.”

“Now, then,” Molly regarded the teenagers around her, “Who’s staying for dinner? Harry, Hermione, of course…Luna dear, surely you can wait for apple pie before you go?” 

“Sorry, but I promised Dad I’d be back before dusk,” Luna said dreamily. “We’re going to clear the Nargles off the plums.” 

Mrs. Weasley nodded knowingly. Draco, who hadn’t yet been exposed to much of Luna’s oddities, looked askance at Harry, but the Gryffindor only shrugged. 

“’ Bye, then, everyone. See you at Christmas. ‘Bye, Ginny.”

“Goodbye, Luna,” Her friends chorused. Harry noticed that Ginny’s cheeks, already pink with the December chill, had blushed a darker shade when Luna spoke to her.

“Come inside, all of you, it’s getting colder by the minute,” Mrs. Weasley tutted.

The interior of the Burrow glowed with its usual warmth and charm. A fire crackled cheerily in the grate, the numerous magical clocks steadily ticked, and various pots and pans bubbled and sizzled with mouth-watering fare that cooked itself.

“Nearly ready,” Molly said brightly. With a wave of her wand, she moved utensils and glasses onto the table, setting it for eight people.

“George isn’t here?” Ron remarked, crestfallen.

“He’s coming tomorrow,” Mrs. Weasley informed him. “Why don’t you all head upstairs and get settled? Draco, you can have Bill’s old room, it’s down the hall from Ron’s. Speaking of which,” She said severely, shaking a wooden spoon, “Hermione, you may visit Ron, but no sleeping in the same room! I won’t be having an accidental grandchild, not until one of you has a financially stable job.” At this, Ron stammered, Hermione blushed, and Ginny chortled at the pair of them. 

Ron waited until he, Harry, and Draco were out of the girls’ earshot before complaining about his mother’s statements. “Just because we’re dating,” He said, ears red, “Doesn’t mean we constantly want to shag. I mean, _really_.” 

“I’m going to find my room,” Draco said quickly, hauling his trunk down the hallway. Harry empathized with his inclination to flee, but he felt it was his duty as Ron’s best friend to listen to his love life issues.

“How are things with Hermione, anyway?” Harry asked, opening the door to Ron’s room. He grinned at the sight of the familiar violently orange hangings and Chudley Cannons posters; it felt wonderfully like home.

“To be honest, mate,” Ron said, flopping onto his bed and grinning euphorically, “Things are going great. I mean, she’s the cleverest witch I’ve ever met, has a sophisticated sense of humor, and gorgeous, besides. Sometimes I have a hard time believing that she wants to be with me.” 

“Don’t be thick, Ron, you’re gorgeous too,” Harry teased, causing his best friend to throw a pillow at him. 

“I’ll take what I can get, I suppose. I _do_ have a serious question for you, though.” Ron sat up, looking sheepish. “How does one…shag?” 

Harry gave him a deadpan look. “First off, I shouldn’t be explaining to you how sex works.” 

“Well, obviously, I know how it _works_ , but…”

“Also, I’m the wrong person to ask.” 

“What d’you mean? You’ve snogged Cho, haven’t you? And you must have done…things…with,” Ron shuddered, “My sister.” 

Harry shook his head. “Nothing past kissing, I’m afraid.”

“What? But she was so taken with you! Have you ever felt a girl up, at least?

“No.”

“Seen a girl naked?”

“Other than the weird Horcrux Hermione in Slytherin’s locket? No.” 

“All right, but surely some girl’s given you a…” Ron made an explicit gesture with his fist and widened his eyes knowingly. Harry clapped a hand to his forehead in embarrassment.

“Come on, Ron, that’s a bit too-”

“Pardon me,” A voice drawled from the doorway. “But your mum’s been shouting for the past five minutes that dinner’s ready. I thought you ought to know.” 

Ron immediately dropped his miming hand, looking mortified. The smirk playing across Draco’s face made it clear that he knew what they were discussing, and Harry’s face burned as if a dragon had spewed flames on it.

“How much of that did you hear?” Harry muttered to Draco as the three boys hurried down the many flights of stairs.

“Enough.” The look of amusement on Draco’s handsome face made Harry want to either laugh or slap him, but before he decided which, they found themselves standing in front of Mrs. Weasley’s lavish dinner spread.

A plate of mashed potatoes, tureens of peas and gravy, a salad topped with caramelized onions, and a roasted ham lay invitingly along the length of the magically enlarged dining table.

“Don’t expect a meal like this every night without helping,” Mrs. Weasley said, “I need vegetables chopped, places set, and dishes washed.”

The teens murmured their assent and were about to sit down when two familiar people appeared by the front door with a faint _pop_. Arthur Weasley, his shoulders sagging tiredly beneath his shabby robes, had arrived with his son, Percy, from the Ministry. Arthur greeted his wife with a kiss on the cheek and welcomed his children back home while Percy only gave them all a quick hello as he wiped his horn-rimmed glasses on his robes.

“I thought you left the Ministry, Percy?” Harry asked.

“Didn’t I tell you? He’s the new undersecretary to the new Minister for Magic,” Ron said. Hermione looked much impressed. 

“Yes, I’m working with Kingsley Shacklebolt himself,” Percy said pompously, prodding his glasses back on, “And I’ll tell you this…” But what Percy was about to tell them fell by the wayside as he broke off abruptly at the sight of Draco Malfoy, who had become very still.

“What’s he doing here?” Percy said shortly. 

“Percy!” Ginny chided. “Don’t be mean.” 

“Oh, I’m the one who’s mean?” Percy’s face had started to grow ruddy from anger. “After what his lot has done to our family? To Fred?” 

A moment of sticky silence fell over the room. Next to Harry, he could hear Draco’s breath coming in anxious, shallow spurts. 

“Draco is here as our guest, Percy, and you would do well to treat him as such,” Mr. Weasley said quietly; he personally did not look thoroughly pleased to have Lucius’s son in his home.

“Dad, you _knew_ about this?” 

“Your mother’s owl arrived only a few minutes before we Apparated. There was no opportunity to tell you,” Arthur said apologetically. 

Percy’s nostrils flared. “I do wish you had sent me an owl too, Mother,” He said bitterly, and sat down hard in his chair.

Throughout this heated exchange, Draco silently stared at his empty plate, his pale face even whiter than usual. As Percy and Arthur settled down and dishes were passed around the table, Harry leaned over surreptitiously to his friend.

“The Weasleys are kind people, they’ll warm up to you soon enough,” Harry said reassuringly. “I promise.” 

Draco nodded miserably; Harry’s words did little to cheer him up. Harry wished that he could offer the Slytherin more comforting words, possibly a hug if he needed it. But Harry couldn’t bring himself to do so under the wary gazes of the Weasley parents and Percy, who flashed suspicious looks at Draco every five minutes. 

Besides the cloud of distrust that surrounded the outsider, dinner passed with its usual chatter. Ginny told a story about seeing Mrs. Norris, Filch’s cat, getting a bucket of water dumped on it by a pair of brazen Ravenclaw sixth years, to her family’s great amusement. 

So at-home did Harry feel that it took him all the way until dessert to remember that Mr. Weasley ought to know about the intrusion on the Hogwarts train.

“Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley, did you hear about the attack on Hogwarts in October?” Harry asked as the pie pan was passed around. 

“Oh, yes, I did hear something about that at the Ministry,” Arthur said thoughtfully. “A rather benign attack, though, wasn’t it? I daresay that was the last we’ve heard of them.” 

“Er… It’s not,” Harry said. Percy looked up from his pie, and Mrs. Weasley paused her scooping of the vanilla ice cream. “They boarded the Hogwarts Express this afternoon.” 

Percy dropped his fork in alarm. Molly gave a gasp of concern, but her husband only leaned forward, intrigued. 

“Really? And you all saw them?” The grave, nodding faces around the table gave him his answer. “That’s very worrying…very worrying indeed…A breach of security that large, gone unnoticed by the Ministry? I’m certain I would have heard something if they _did_ know.”

“They covered their tracks eerily well,” Hermione confirmed. 

“Well then…What exactly happened during the encounter?” 

Harry told Mr. Weasley everything, from the train stopping unnaturally short to what the strange Thai witch had told him. Hermione chimed in from time to time to provide a perspective from outside the compartment. The only detail Harry deliberately left out was Draco staying back to protect him. The Slytherin himself noticed that Harry did not mention this; his pale eyes strayed curiously to his friend, but he said nothing. 

“I’ll be sure to tell the Ministry everything,” Arthur said once Harry had finished. Next to his father, Percy had managed to scribble down notes on Harry’s account. “This is handy information, Harry, thank you.”

“Of course.” Harry stared at Percy’s notes uneasily. He could only hope that the Ministry could act fast enough to apprehend the crimson-clothed wizards. Whether they were dangerous or not, Harry could only guess, but he profoundly disliked having such unknown variables floating around in his life, especially during what was supposed to be a time of peace. 

Atop his uneaten slice of pie, the ice cream had melted almost completely, oozing into the cracks of the crust like lava. Harry pushed his plate away, too preoccupied with the reminder of danger to be focused on dessert. The semblance of safety at the Burrow had lasted only a few precious hours, and Harry wondered bitterly when he would feel truly safe again.

• • •

Night swooped upon the Burrow like a sharp-eyed hawk, and with it came flurries that fluttered past the house’s many windows. Holed up in the warm, cozy indoors, the Hogwarts students played a few games of Exploding Snap. They invited Draco to play, and the Slytherin joined reluctantly, participating sullenly in a few rounds before heading off to bed around nine. Harry watched him go with a worried expression on his face, but he knew Draco well enough to know that following him might only make things worse. 

Before long, the firelight had faded to a dull glow, and the teens stifled their yawns. Hermione rested her head on Ron’s shoulder, her eyes sliding closed. Ginny rubbed her eyes blearily and carefully laid her explosive cards down, and Harry followed suit. 

“Bedtime already?” Ron murmured sleepily, “Fancy a game of chess…?” He drifted off and yawned hugely. 

“Come on, up you get,” Ginny said, shaking him awake, then gently did the same to Hermione. “You’ve got seven flights of stairs to climb.” 

The Weasley siblings, Harry, and Hermione trundled tiredly up to their respective rooms. Ginny and Hermione said their goodnights to the boys, who collapsed on their beds immediately after entering Ron’s room. 

Harry took off his glasses and set them on the nightstand, climbing into the bright orange sheets. He lay his head down, listening to the howling of the wind outside. Sleep’s dark and firm fingers pulled him into a dreamless void. 

In the dreary hours of the night, snow fell hard and fast. Eight people slumbered with varying amounts of peace, undisturbed until lightning began to flash through the dark clouds. The Burrow’s wooden structure groaned quietly, shifting as it was battered with a building storm. 

A particularly loud clap of thunder snapped Harry from sleep, and he woke with his heart pounding. On the other side of the room, Ron stirred, rolling over. Harry took a deep breath and reached for his glasses. The storm truly raged now, and another rumble of thunder made Harry realize how dry his mouth was. Rubbing the fatigue from his eyes, he walked all the way to the first floor for a drink.

The kitchen stood hauntingly empty. The wood in the grate no longer emitted smoke, and the dishes lay clean in the drying rack. Harry felt his way through the semidarkness and poured himself a glass of water, gulping half of it down and refilling it as he looked through the window. Outside, snowflakes blew by the frosted pane as if in a terrible hurry. Harry hoped the storm would abate by morning so they could spend some time outside. 

Cup in hand, Harry made his way back up to the top floor, jumping a little every time the thunder surprised him. So distracting was the howling wind and Ron’s snores that Harry almost didn’t hear the crying. 

Pausing at the top of the stairwell, Harry strained his ears. A whimpering, muttering noise echoed quietly from down the hall. Curiosity nudged Harry to the door of Draco’s room. He hesitated, not wanting to wake the Slytherin. But something seemed terribly wrong, and, spurred by a sense of protectiveness, Harry pushed the door open carefully. 

Faint moonlight threw the contents of the room into sharp silhouettes. A figure twitched on the bed, the blanket on top of it nearly falling off. Harry edged forward and put his cup down on a nearby nightstand, squinting through the tenebrosity. 

Draco took shallow breaths and muttered through strangled weeping. “ _Don’t, please…_ ” He pleaded, “ _Don’t hurt her…take me instead._ ” 

Harry knew that Draco often had nightmares, but he had never heard the Slytherin be in such abject agony while unconscious. Empathy stabbed through Harry’s heart and he knelt by Draco’s side. 

“Draco,” Harry spoke his name softly into the darkness, then hesitated. Should he wake Draco up? Leave him to his mind’s monstrous devices? “Hey, it’s all right,” Harry murmured, reaching forward to take his hand, which was damp with sweat. “You’re safe here.” 

Suddenly, Draco’s fingers clamped around Harry’s fearfully, and the Gryffindor winced rather loudly in pain. 

“Ouch, Malfoy!” Harry exclaimed, and it was then that Draco’s crying ceased and he blearily opened his eyes. 

“Oh,” Draco said distractedly and loosened his viselike grip on Harry’s hand. “Sorry…”

“It’s okay,” Harry replied, “I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“I’m not dreaming?” Draco mumbled. He seemed still half-asleep, though his eyes were open. 

Harry frowned and moved Draco’s face with his other hand to see his expression properly. The fact that Draco let him do this without protesting led Harry to believe that he couldn’t possibly be truly conscious. Draco’s silver eyes were half-closed and glazed with sleep. 

“I’ll leave you alone,” Harry said awkwardly, making to stand. But Draco grabbed the other young man’s hand before it left his cheek. His warm fingers curled insistently around Harry’s palm, and Harry inhaled sharply in surprise. 

“Can you stay with me?” Draco whispered, both of his hands now gripping Harry’s. The ghosts of his tears glistened on his face, and he made such a pleading, childlike expression that he looked like a different person. 

Harry opened and closed his mouth. The wind whistled outside the window, and Ron’s snores rolled on steadily. “You want me to sleep with you?” Harry asked quietly, and he blushed at his own words. 

Draco nodded. Harry stood, gently slipped his hands from Draco’s, and took off his glasses. After setting them down on the nightstand, Harry lifted the blankets and laid down on his side, facing Draco.

“Thank you,” Draco murmured sleepily, and his eyes closed almost immediately. Harry stayed awake for a few more minutes to see if Draco started dreaming again, but the Slytherin’s breathing remained even and undisturbed. Once he had gotten over the initial shock of being in the same bed as his former enemy, Harry let sleep take him over once more. 

Outside, the wind began to die down. Snow fell less thickly that it had before, coating the ground in a soft layer of white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter focuses more on the minutia rather than big-picture stuff, in comparison with the previous chapter. Now that the characters have settled back in the Burrow, along with Draco, I wanted to give a couple of snapshots of their interactions - which of course have changed with the appearance of an outsider.


	16. Diary of the Depraved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reader’s Warning: This chapter contains strong profanity and violent imagery.

_19 October 1998_

Draco wakes on a windswept, heather-covered hill, blood drying on his face. He coughs, staring at a dark, cloudy sky. Tiny, cold raindrops pelt against his pale skin, and he sits up slowly, cursing his pounding head and rotten luck. He stands with difficulty, bitterly noting the dull pain in his ribs. They don’t seem to be broken, but his whole torso is bruised.

“Where the hell am I?” Draco mutters, looking in a broad circle. Through the drizzle, he spots the towering, familiar castle in the distance. But Hogwarts is miles away from Malfoy Manor, and that’s where they…

Draco tastes his coppery lips. He wants to be angry at them, but he can’t be anything but afraid. The heavens open wide, and the rain begins to pour in earnest. Draco pats his pockets.

At least they left him his wand, if not his dignity.

Draco casts drying and warming charms on his clothes, but his magic is uncharacteristically faulty. Draco fervently wishes that he could Apparate, but he’s sure he’ll be Splinched if he tries. The freezing rain chills him and the ground, soaking the hill and turning dirt to mud.

• • •

_17 October 1998_

It’s the pain, stabbing on the top of his head, that wakes him. Draco tries to move his arms, but they’re pinned with steely gray ropes to a hefty, wooden armchair. He’s able to turn his head at least, and he sees three people standing in front of him. Two of them are masked - on the left, Rosier, judging from the husky voice Draco had heard the night before. The man on the right cracks his knuckles, revealing a ring with a family crest. Rodolphus Lestrange - but they were both supposed to be in Azkaban. The man in the middle, white-blond hair spilling over his shoulders, regards Draco with a cold sneer. 

Draco’s mouth goes dry. “Father?” 

“I thought I made it very clear,” Lucius Malfoy snarls, whipping out his wand, “That you are not to address me as ‘Father’ any longer.” 

A fourth person whispers indistinctly from behind Draco’s chair. The young man tries to twist and look behind him, but the ropes tighten. In front of him, Lucius’s face goes slack, and he immediately puts his wand away. 

“All will be forgiven, Draco,” He says through a pained smile, “As long as you agree to join the Death Eaters once more.” 

Whispers again float from behind Draco’s chair, and Lucius frowns. “Ah…He got the Dark Mark removed somehow so that immediately means…I see. Very well.”

Draco tries harder than ever to strain against the ropes, but his efforts only elicit a dry laugh from the unknown person behind him. He grits his teeth in frustration, feeling like an audience member who sees the puppet show but not the master above. 

“I will do my best,” Lucius was saying, tugging up his sleeves. 

“Malfoy,” Lestrange interrupts, clearing his throat, “I thought only the Dark Lord himself can give the Dark Mark-”

“Do you see the Dark Lord here?” Lucius spits angrily. “Don’t doubt me, Rodolphus.” He stalks toward his son, who struggles in earnest. 

“No, not again,” Draco pleads. One rope loosens his left arm free, and he immediately tries to tug the others off. Lucius grabs his son’s arm forcefully and pulls up his sleeve. “ _Please_ , don’t do this…” Fearful tears squeeze onto Draco’s cheeks. 

“Stop that!” Lucius roars and slaps him. Draco’s head drops onto his chest, and he ceases struggling. Terror grips his limbs as Lucius presses his wand tip to Draco’s pale, pure forearm. “ _Morsmordre Stativus Caché_ ,” He mutters vigorously, and the skin begins to burn. Draco cries out and twists in pain, but Lucius keeps a firm grip. “ _Morsmorde Stativus Caché. Morsmorde Stativus Caché_.”

Coal-black scrawls itself onto Draco’s skin, forming the horrifyingly familiar symbol of a snake writhing from a skull. He screams and struggles from physical and emotional pain, but it’s too late. The Dark Mark stands out on his pale skin like black blood on snow. 

“You want to know the best part of this?” Lucius says with relish, still holding his son’s arm. “He can make it disappear and reappear at will. Go on, Draco. Try it.” 

Draco gives him a look of utmost hatred, but his instinct is to wish the Dark Mark away, and it immediately fades. Lucius grins manically and holds the arm up for the person behind the chair to see. “But if he touches that spot, every Death Eater will be alerted to Apparate to him for assistance. Just like the original.” 

“Impressive.” The voice from behind Draco’s chair is muffled and distorted, unnaturally deep. “And can it be removed?” 

“No. Never.” 

“Why are you doing this?” Draco asks as the ropes pull him back into place. Anger heats his blood, and he gives his father a look of total betrayal. “Why are you working with them? Show yourself, coward!” He screams, addressing the unknown presence, but the person behind the chair only chuckles. 

“ _We’re_ the cowards? Draco Lucius Malfoy. How can you say that after the things you’ve done? After all you’ve run away from?” The deep voice is mocking, and Draco clenches his jaw. “As for why you’re here…We’re recruiting, of course. Using your numbers as a means to rise to power. Voldemort did the same, as I’m sure you remember.” 

Draco’s blood runs cold at the sound of his old master’s name. “Recruiting for what?” 

“Why should we tell you?” The voice counters. “You have yet to earn our trust.” 

“I have no reason to give it.” 

“Fair enough.” 

The ropes suddenly drop from Draco’s body, and he leaps out of the armchair immediately, spinning around to see who stands behind it. There is no one. Lucius laughs, high and cold, for a minute sounding like Voldemort himself. 

“You think trust is so easily given?” He asks scornfully. “Then you are a fool.” 

Draco turns, clenching his fists. “Just give me back my wand and let me go. You’ve done what you wanted to do.” 

“Don’t be so naïve, Draco,” Lucius growls. “You’re still of use to us.” From inside his coat, he procures a tiny vial filled with clear liquid. \

 _Veritaserum_. “No.” Draco’s voice sounds weak, even to himself, and he takes a step back, his calves bumping against the chair. “No. You can’t make me.” 

“Oh, don’t sound so worried,” Lucius says flippantly, “What other personal secrets could you possibly have? We already know that you’re a filthy faggot.” 

The words punch Draco in the gut, and he fights the tears that pool in his eyes. He can’t let himself cry again, not in front of his traitorous father nor the other two Death Eaters that cackle behind him. But Lucius is wrong - if they ask the right questions, Draco fears for more than just his own safety. 

Draco lifts his curled fists. He won’t run. Not this time.

Lucius rolls his eyes and looks to Lestrange. “Rodolphus, I believe the Cruciatus Curse is your specialty.” 

The masked Death Eater nods and steps forward. Draco’s muscles tense, and he stares out the window in an effort to distract himself from the pain he knows is coming. Outside, a tiny sparrow alights on a branch and watches the scene with beady eyes. 

“ _Crucio_.” 

Agony twists Draco’s body into painful knots. His bones feel like they’re being impaled with a thousand needles, breaking into a million painful shards. His skin is on fire, his mind drowned in the very peak of immense pain-

And then it stops, and Draco is on his stomach, cheek pressed to the cold, dirty floor. His breath comes in shuddering gasps, and his body aches. But he’s numb and ready to endure it a thousand times if it means keeping the Death Eaters from taking advantage of him. 

“Get up!” Lucius kicks his son in the stomach, and Draco grunts, remaining limp. Lucius grabs his face and tries to force the Veritaserum down his throat, but Draco twists away and stands with difficulty. “Rosier,” Lucius commands, and the Death Eater steps forward, punching Draco across the face. 

The young man staggers backward, clutching his nose. Blood drips from his face onto the ground almost immediately, but he continues to step back out of reach. Rosier reaches for him again, throwing Draco to the ground and giving him a sharp kick in the ribs. Before Draco can get up once more, Rodolphus joins in, picking the boy up by the scruff of his coat and hitting him across the face. 

“You think you can just walk away from this?” Lucius drawls, walking in a full circle around them. “You’re a fool, Draco. You were born into this life. You can’t escape.” 

“You’re wrong,” Draco chokes, though he barely believes it himself. 

Lucius only scoffs. “Harder,” He says firmly, and Rosier delivers a crippling blow to Draco’s stomach. The young man doubles over, but before he falls altogether, Lucius forces his chin up. Draco can do nothing but sputter as his father pours the clear contents of the vial into his mouth. It takes all his remaining strength to stand, and soon even that ebbs away. Draco’s vision grows fuzzy at the edges, and he feels his knees buckling. 

“We don’t need him fully conscious,” He hears Lucius say. “The potion will do its work well enough…” Everything goes black, and Draco passes out for the second time that day. 

• • •

_16 October 1998_

The letter reaches Draco at breakfast, carried by an unfamiliar owl with speckled brown feathers. It drops the envelope unceremoniously by his porridge and takes off again, wings flapping hurriedly.

The message is short but straightforward. **Come and get your things as soon as you receive this. Your father expects the house empty by Christmas. Love, Mother.**

Immediately, alarm bells go off in Draco’s head. If his father really wanted all traces of him out by Christmas, why should he go now? And Draco can’t remember the last time his mother had addressed a letter with her love. 

Draco regards the letter bitterly. It reminds him of another, tearstained note that still lies at the bottom of his trunk. The one in which Lucius Malfoy had scrawled a long, angry ramble that ended with five words. **You’re no son of mine.**

He spends the school day distracted, thinking of a plan to apprehend this new development. At nightfall, he empties his two trunks and shoves the stuff under the bed when the dormitory is empty. As he does so, he hears a sudden spurt of loud laughter from the common room. Potter. 

Offhandedly, Draco wonders if he will return alive to hear that sound again. 

It’s well past midnight before Draco is sure that the other boys in the dormitory are asleep. Floating the two trunks quietly into the hallway and casting Disillusionment charms on them and himself, Draco slips out of the castle and into the night. At the border of the Hogwarts campus, Draco grabs the trunks and twists in midair, thinking hard of the house that is no longer his home-

A moment later, gravel crunches beneath his feet. The chilly November breeze rustles the live oak trees that grow on either side of the walkway. In their branches, the ghostly figures of white peacocks flutter at the appearance of their master’s son. 

Draco needs only to touch the wrought-iron gate for it to dissipate into smoke; it senses pure Malfoy blood and lets him through. In front of him, the trunks are losing their invisibility and becoming worryingly opaque once more. But before Draco can redo the charm, the door to the manor opens. The foyer inside yawns darkly, moonlight stopping abruptly at the threshold. Draco lets the trunks drop to the ground and readies his wand, but before he can say a thing, an unseen but powerful force drags his body into the umbrage of the house. 

_Lumos._ Draco casts the charm wordlessly, wand light falling on the dusty sofa. Multiple pairs of hands scrabble for him in the darkness, but before he can see who’s there, someone shouts, “Expelliarmus!” Draco’s wand and its glow spin away into the shadows, and panic rise in his chest. 

“Apologies, laddie,” Says a vaguely familiar voice, “But this will be much easier if you just cooperate.” 

Something immensely substantial and rock-hard crashes on Draco’s head. His eyes roll back, and he collapses onto the dusty floor. 

• • •

_10 May 1998_

It’s a sense of honor, Draco decides, which motivates him to contact Harry Potter. He owes him, after all, for it was Potter that had pulled him and Goyle from the deadly flames in the Room of Requirement.

It’s a sense of honor, and not loneliness, Draco tells himself firmly, that causes him to Apparate invisibly to the site of Fred Weasley’s funeral. Amidst the sea of redheads, he spots Potter’s untidy black hair immediately. Taking care not to bump into anyone, Draco walks about the edges of the crowd and waits for everyone to get settled. Potter, per Draco’s instructions, sits near the back, next to the oaf, Hagrid.

Draco tiptoes to the seat on Potter’s left. His heart pounds with apprehension. Surely Potter hadn’t agreed to this meeting only to attack Draco and turn him in? Not here? Draco wants terribly to believe the best of the Chosen One in the same way that he believes the worst of himself.

Potter turns to look at the place where Draco sits, and a look of confusion crosses his face. Draco rolls his eyes and leans close so he can whisper without detection.

“Don’t scream, Potter.”

• • •

_2 May 1998_

Crabbe’s Killing Curse misses Hermione Granger only by a few feet, and Draco spots the furious look on Potter’s face. He sees for himself the raw, unwavering loyalty that Potter has for his friends, and it’s that same loyalty that moves his wand to send a Stunning Spell straight at Crabbe’s head. 

Unfortunately, Crabbe dodges right into Draco, sending his mother’s wand spinning out of his hand and underneath a tower of broken furniture and boxes. Both Crabbe and Goyle point their wands at Potter, their intention clear. 

“Don’t kill him! DON’T KILL HIM!” Draco yells at them both. He knows the Dark Lord wants to murder the Boy Who Lived himself, but even beyond that, Draco can’t bear to see Potter dead. Not yet, at least. 

Potter takes immediate action, Disarming Goyle, who foolishly tries to retrieve his wand. Granger shoots a Stunning Spell at Draco, who jumps behind a three-legged wardrobe. He hides from the chaos of the young dueling wizards, looking for a clear path to somehow retrieve his wand. 

Suddenly, the shouts are drowned out by a roaring, crackling noise. Both Weasley and Crabbe run down the aisle to their comrades, a fiery orange glow emerging behind them. 

“Like it hot, scum?” Crabbe shouts, but Draco can tell by the terrified look on his face that he has no control over what he’s done. Flames pursue Weasley and Crabbe alike, licking unnaturally large and fast over the towers of junk. 

“ _Aguamenti_!” Potter cries desperately, but the jet of water from his wand evaporates immediately in the heated air. 

“RUN!” Someone screams, and the Death Eater offspring and Golden Trio alike sprint away from the enchanted, roaring fire. Draco grabs the Stunned Goyle with a grunt, running as fast as he can, but the Fiendfyre soon engulfs them in a deadly circle. Crabbe, Potter, Weasley, and Granger have vanished, and Draco curses. 

“I’m _not_ dying in here,” He snaps to himself, and lugs Goyle with all his might to an uncharred, spindly tower of desks. Draco nearly slips more than once, almost falling back into the roiling, fiery storm of chimeras, serpents, and lions that Crabbe conjured. Smoke chokes his lungs, but with pure will and determination, he manages to clamber on the very top of the precipitous tower. 

Draco screams and shrieks more than once as he scans the smoky air for any sign of salvation. Flames bite and scorch both his and Goyle’s clothes, and hopelessness clenches his chest. 

Then from the billowing clouds of black, Draco spots two broomsticks, Potter on one and the other two on the other. Potter dives, and Draco raises his arm desperately. Their hands meet for only a second, but Draco’s skin is slick with sweat, and Goyle is too heavy. 

“IF WE DIE FOR THEM, I’LL KILL YOU, HARRY!” Ron roars. But he and Hermione take Goyle’s limp body from Draco’s grasp, dragging him onto their broom. Potter swerves back to Draco and pulls him onto his own broomstick. 

“The door, get to the door, the door!” Draco screams as he clutches Potter’s body as tightly as possible to keep from falling off. Tears, elicited from the stinging smoke, inch down his cheeks, but can’t bother to let go and wipe them away. 

Suddenly, Potter swerves, diving after the discolored tiara he was so fixated on, and Draco’s grip tightens even more as he shrieks, “ _What are you doing, what are you doing, the door’s that way!_ ” Potter catches the diadem on his wrist deftly and immediately speeds for the door of the Room of Requirement. 

Draco and Potter crash into the wall of the corridor, where clean air fills their lungs. The Slytherin falls off the broom, landing face down on the ground, coughing, and retching. Potter sits up, panting, his face streaked with soot. 

“C-Crabbe,” Chokes Draco, pleadingly looking towards Potter, Granger, and Weasley, “C-Crabbe…” 

“He’s dead,” Weasley says harshly. A few moments of silence pass, Draco looking down at his hands and leaning tiredly against the wall. He has half a mind to thank Potter for saving his life - but what’s the point? 

Forgotten by the other three, Draco and Goyle slump against the wall, still gulping lungfuls of smoke-free air. Potter, Weasley, and Granger talk in hurried, frantic voices, then run off as the Hogwarts castle explodes in chaos. 

For a terrifying, fleeting moment, Draco wants to join them in whatever heroic quest they’re undertaking. But then he spots the mask of an infiltrating Death Eater, and he remembers what side he’s on in this godforsaken war. Leaving Goyle unconscious by the wall, Draco brushes off his clothes and grits his teeth. Whether he has a wand or not, he knows exactly who he serves. And Voldemort won’t hesitate to kill him lest he forgets that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can likely tell, I went in a decidedly different direction from previous chapters. I wanted to provide a glimpse into Draco's character and motivations. I know some of you were asking where Draco was in chapter eight, so here's your answer!  
> Also, the last section of this chapter is heavily based off of the canon scene in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, so if you notice JKR's dialogue, that's because some of it is! I'm claiming unoriginality for that bit. The only difference, of course, is that it's from a Draco Malfoy-focused third-person perspective.


	17. The Outsider, Part One

Draco Malfoy woke early out of habit. The sun hadn’t yet begun its ascent into the sky, but its first rays crept tentatively through the window of Bill’s old room. When he saw that Harry Potter lay next to him, Draco gave a surprised gasp but didn’t move. His eyes drifted to his right hand, which was entwined with Potter’s left. 

Confusion and guilt mingled through Draco’s mind as he carefully extracted his fingers. He barely remembered anything from the night before, only that he had had his usual nightmares. Draco knew he had a tendency to talk in his sleep, and his face burned as he imagined the possible things he could have said to Harry. 

But even if Draco had convinced Potter to stay with him, why should he oblige? Draco didn’t want his pity - nor did he deserve it. He didn’t even deserve to be here, with the family that the Malfoys had ridiculed and scorned for years. 

Plus, Draco had to consider that dangerous people may still be after him. He had dreamed of it last night, of his father, the two other Death Eaters, and the strange voice taunting him in the dark, empty mansion. At Hogwarts, under McGonagall’s watchful eye, Draco was relatively safe. But out here in the open, he was putting himself and the others in jeopardy. _I shouldn’t be here,_ he realized with a regretful jolt.

Taking great care not to wake his friend, Draco dressed and packed his trunk. He would go outside and Apparate straight to Hogwarts. Spending the holidays alone was a dreary prospect, but it was better than putting Potter in danger. 

Harry Potter. Draco spared him one last glance at the threshold. The Gryffindor looked even younger asleep, his untidy jet hair sticking up adorably every which way. Draco sighed, his hand pausing on the doorknob. He could no longer deny it, looking at the Boy Who Lived as he slumbered. Draco’s feelings from his youth had selfishly resurfaced; his admiration of Harry’s courage and kindness was reluctantly turning into affection. 

After closing the door quietly behind him, Draco descended slowly down the seven long flights of stairs. A blast of cold air hit him as he walked across the snow outside. The Burrow, standing on a hill, overlooked a wide field of knee-high grass, each blade frosted and glistening. Draco turned to give his brief home one last look. 

Potter suddenly burst out of the front door, wearing sneakers and a jacket over his pajamas. Draco gave him a bewildered look as the young man stopped in front of him. 

“Going somewhere, Malfoy?” Potter said, his tone accusatory and his expression hurt. 

“Back to Hogwarts,” Draco replied. Harry’s emerald eyes were pleading, and he looked away from them. 

“But why? You just got here,” Potter went on, “I know it’s weird adjusting to…all this. Especially after dinner last night. But the Weasleys will-”

“Warm up to me?” Draco said bitterly. “The Death Eater?”

“You’re not…”

Draco shook his head, cutting him off. The Slytherin shed his black overcoat and forcefully pulled up his left sleeve, willing the Dark Mark into existence. It glared blackly, and Harry’s eyes widened. 

“I thought I removed it.” A range of emotions, from confusion to betrayal, paraded across Potter’s face. 

“You did,” Draco said, pulling his sleeve back down. He took a deep breath. Harry knew most of his secrets by now; he might as well give him the whole truth. “Remember back in October when I left school for a few days?” Potter nodded, and Draco gave him an abridged account of what had happened at Malfoy Manor. 

After he finished, Harry collapsed, shocked, onto Draco’s trunk. The Slytherin raised his eyebrow at this but allowed his friend a moment to process. 

“That’s…” Potter trailed off and let out a whoosh of breath. “That’s awful. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Draco shrugged, “I had it coming.” 

Potter gave him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean, this must be the universe’s way of punishing me for the things I’ve done.” 

Potter shook his head vigorously and stood up again. “That can’t be it, Malfoy,” He said, “You’ve just been thrown into unlucky circumstances. No way that was your fault.” 

Draco let out a mirthless laugh. “You don’t get it, Potter. Even if it wasn’t directly my doing, I still deserved it. I deserve to be beaten up a hundred times for my crimes.” 

“Saying that proves your remorse,” Harry pointed out. “Besides, you were raised to be a Death Eater. You’re not fully responsible for _everything_ you’ve done.” 

Draco almost wanted to agree, but the towering guilt crushed the urge to say so. Instead, he pressed, “Either way, I should leave. It’s not right for me to be here.” 

Potter shook his head sadly. “Stop punishing yourself.” 

“I’m _not_.”

“At least come inside for a bit to think about it. It’s freezing.” Harry held out his bare hand, which was turning red with cold. Draco wanted terribly to take it, but he stepped back instead. 

“I can’t.” 

“Malfoy, come on-”

“No.” As if of its own accord, Draco’s right hand plunged into the pocket of his coat, and he pulled out his wand. Potter’s expression hardened, and he quickly took out his own wand as well. 

The two young men watched each other warily, making steely eye contact. 

“We can talk this out,” Potter said, but his hand didn’t lower. 

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” Draco shouted suddenly, and Harry’s wand spun out of his hand. The Gryffindor frowned but made no move to retrieve it. Draco moved briskly forward, touching the tip of his wand to Harry’s throat. 

Potter raised his hands in mock surrender. “What, are you gonna kill me?” 

Draco faltered slightly, caught off guard from the accusation. Harry took the opportunity to grab his right wrist and toss the wand aside; Draco scoffed at him and immediately knelt to retrieve it, but Potter pushed him into the snow. 

“Hey!” Draco protested, but Harry had his arms pinned to the cold ground. “This is childish,” Draco huffed, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. 

“I’ll let you go if you promise to talk first and leave your wand where it is.” Harry’s green eyes glinted with seriousness. 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Fine,” He said through clenched teeth, and Potter let him go. Fighting the instinct to grab his weapon, Draco rubbed his sore wrist and gave his friend a resentful look. 

“I don’t wish to fight with you,” The Slytherin said exasperatedly. 

“So don’t,” Harry replied, panting slightly. He sat cross-legged on the snow next to Draco, taking a minute to catch his breath before continuing. “Think about it, Malfoy. If the Death Eaters let you go, they probably don’t need you anymore. I doubt they’d suddenly decide to kidnap you in the middle of the holidays. Besides,” He moved slightly forward, “If they did, you know we’d all protect you.” 

Draco saw the sincerity in Harry’s emerald eyes. “I don’t see why you would.” 

“Because you’re our _friend_ , Draco,” Potter said fiercely, “And if not theirs quite yet, then mine. It might sound crazy, but I have your back now. I care about y-”

Draco leaned forward and kissed him.

For one incredible moment, all that he knew was the feel of Harry Potter’s lips on his. Instinctively, his left hand lifted to tangle itself in Harry’s hair, and he tilted his head, feeling like he could live forever…

And then they stopped, and Draco had realized what he had done. 

“Potter - I…Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” 

“Don’t apologize,” Harry whispered, and kissed him back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably don't need to explain much about this chapter. But I will say that it's a jumping-off point for future events...


	18. The Outsider, Part Two

Throughout his young but eventful life, Harry Potter had battled a dragon, faced Voldemort multiple times, and died, but nothing caught him off guard so much as Draco Malfoy kissing him. 

The most surprising thing about it, Harry thought, was that he _liked_ it. Draco, whose lips were unbelievably soft, was just as excellent a kisser as Ginny had been. But the comparisons to Harry’s old girlfriend ended there. 

After a moment or two, Draco reached up to run his fingers through Harry’s hair, which the Gryffindor found fantastically adorable. But before the kiss could get any deeper, Draco pulled away. They both blinked, and, with a stab of sympathy, Harry could see that Draco’s eyes were filling with guilt. 

“Potter - I…Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“Don’t apologize,” Harry whispered, and before he could talk himself out of it, placed a hand on the side of Draco’s face to pull him back in. 

This time, there was no hesitation on Harry’s end, and he let his other hand trail down Draco’s chest as he kissed him, coming to rest comfortably on his waist. Draco gave in and tilted his head again, their mouths moving clumsily against each other. 

Finally, they broke apart once more, both breathless. Harry’s eyes urgently searched Draco’s silver ones, trying to gauge his reaction, but the Slytherin looked as dizzy as Harry felt. 

“Stay,” Harry said quietly but firmly. 

Draco sighed, trying to fight back the smile that played across his lips. “If you insist.” 

A bit woozily, Harry stood up and offered his hand to Draco, who took it and stood as well, then let go under the pretense of brushing the snow off his clothes. 

Draco broke the silence, fidgeting with his gloved hands. “Potter…Could you help me carry my trunk back upstairs? It’s quite heavy.” 

“I could charm it to float instead if you’d like.”

“Oh. Right, of course.” Draco waited for Harry to pick up his wand, and the Gryffindor muttered something, causing the luggage to hover in the air. On the way back upstairs, the trunk bumped the walls more than once, and the pair paused, listening for the telltale sounds of people waking up. Luckily, the house remained silent, and they returned to Draco’s room without a hitch. 

Harry lowered the trunk onto the floor with a muffled thump. He and Draco glanced at each other at the same time, then quickly looked away again. 

“I guess I’ll see you at breakfast,” Harry said casually, inching towards the door. 

“Yes. See you.” 

“‘Bye, then.” Harry closed the door carefully behind him, then pressed a disbelieving hand to his forehead. Draco Malfoy had _kissed_ him. _And I kissed him back._

Butterflies in his stomach and helium in his head, Harry floated in a daze back to Ron’s room, where the youngest Weasley boy was thankfully still asleep. Harry clambered back into bed, but he lay awake for nearly an hour, staring at the ceiling until the sounds and smells of cooking drifted up from the kitchen. 


	19. Push & Pull

For the rest of the day, Draco seemed to be determined not to be alone in the same room as Harry. The rest of the students invited him to participate in their various pastimes, and he accepted but was careful not to sit too close to Harry. And when Mrs. Weasley asked for help in the kitchen, Draco practically leaped to assist her, despite never cooking a meal by himself in his life. 

Harry himself did just as bad a job hiding his shaken, befuddled emotions. He floated in his own cloud of thoughts the whole day, which didn’t go unnoticed by his best friends. It was about an hour after lunch, when he accidentally let the tea kettle overflow with water, that Hermione stepped in. 

“Harry, what’s gotten into you?” She tutted, clearing the spill with a wave of her wand. 

“Sorry,” Harry muttered, putting the kettle on the stove and lighting a fire underneath it with his own wand. 

“You’re acting strange.” Hermione leaned against the counter and crossed her arms. “Come on, talk to me.” 

Harry sighed and watched the steam rush from the kettle’s spout. “It’s nothing.” Draco’s hand in his hair, his naïve and ardent lips. He was becoming rapidly obsessed. 

“Are the dreams getting worse?” Hermione asked softly. Ever since the Battle of Hogwarts, the whole Trio had shared nightmares of their friends and family, their minds forever imprinted by the trauma of the war they had been through. 

Harry shook his head. “They come farther and farther apart. How about you?”

“The last bad one was around September.” 

“That’s good.” The kettle whistled in earnest, and Hermione extinguished the flame with a tap. “Don’t worry, ‘Mione, I’m fine. If anything was seriously wrong, I’d tell you.” 

“I certainly hope so,” She replied, taking two mugs out of the cabinet. With another casual flick of her wand, two teabags flew from a drawer and into the mugs. 

From the doorway leading to the living room came Draco, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He wore a simple black turtleneck; Harry, who hadn’t seen the Slytherin in anything other than school robes or his coat, thought the Muggle-style clothes suited him well. Draco noticed Harry’s unintentional staring and shot him a look, causing the Gryffindor to flush slightly and focus on pouring hot water. 

“How’s the game getting on?” Hermione asked, grabbing another pair of mugs. Draco and Ron had been playing an intensely silent game of chess in the living room for the past half hour. 

“He’s _beating_ me,” Draco said in disbelief, putting his forearms on the counter. He seemed much more relaxed than the day before, to Harry’s relief - though the fact that Arthur and Percy had left for work already probably helped quite a bit. “Not by much, though,” Draco added as Hermione handed him two mugs of peppermint tea. 

“Bring the other to Ron, will you?” Hermione requested, and the Slytherin obliged. “Draco’s really not that bad, is he?” She remarked once he had left. “I guess it’s possible to take the evil out of the Death Eater, after all.” 

“Right…” Harry blew on his tea before taking a careful sip. But he had barely heard what Hermione had said, busy wondering how Draco could go on with business as usual when the kiss lingered between them like a rose too fragrant to deny. 

• • •

“Everyone ready?” Mrs. Weasley peered around at the faces of her true offspring and pseudo-adopted children, all of them dressed for the cold. “Draco, have you traveled by Floo powder before?” 

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Yes,” He said, and looked as if he was going to add a cutting remark, but wisely bit his tongue. 

“All right, then,” Mrs. Weasley held out a cracked flowerpot filled with glittery green powder. “Ron, you first.” 

“Why aren’t we Apparating, Mum?” Ginny asked as Ron stepped over the grate. 

“Well, you haven’t got your license yet, have you?” 

“Yes, I do,” Ginny caught Harry’s eye and shook her head exasperatedly. 

“Oh. It’s neater this way, anyhow,” Mrs. Weasley said dismissively as Ron shouted, “Diagon Alley!” 

A few minutes later, the company of six brushed the ashes off their clothes as they stood by Diagon Alley’s main grate. Crowds of witches and wizards doing last-minute Christmas shopping thronged about the streets, arms laded with brightly colored bags and packages. 

“Head to Weasley’s,” Molly called; their group was already starting to be pushed apart by the multitude. “We’ll meet George there.”

“Come on,” Hermione took Ron’s hand, and they pressed forward, Harry and Draco following close behind. 

Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was in clear view at the end of the street, exploding with even more color and energy than the rest of the shops. But Harry noticed, tucked between the open stores, that a few of them were closed and shuttered. Some windows had shattered completely, and no one had bothered to fix them, leaving the shadowy shells behind empty. 

Harry looked from the spots of wreckage and glanced at Draco, vaguely wondering if he had been one of the Death Eaters that destroyed parts of Diagon Alley during the War. As if sensing Harry’s thoughts, Draco’s brow furrowed, and he didn’t speak for the whole walk, keeping his head resolutely forward. 

The whirlwind of activity that met them in Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was more than enough to take Harry’s mind off Draco’s distant attitude for the time being. Potions for all sorts of mischievous behavior lined walls in colorful vials. Decoy detonators and other such moving, tiny machines wandered around their display pens. A whole candy section dedicated to Fever Fudge, Puking Pastilles, and other, tastier creations shone on the opposite side of the giant, two-story shop. 

“If it isn’t Molly Weasley!” A jovial voice came from above, and Lee Jordan fell out of nowhere in front of the students, making them jump back. He was dressed in the standard WWW uniform, complete with an orange-banded top hat that partially covered his neat dreadlocks. “Nice to see you all, Ginny, Ron, Harry, Hermione…” Lee paused for a split second, recognizing the pale, pointed face of a Malfoy, but his retail employee instincts took over, and he continued smoothly, “And Draco Malfoy as well, what a surprise. Looking for George, then?” 

“Yes, though I’m sure the young ones will want to be doing some shopping,” Mrs. Weasley replied. 

“Sure, go ahead,” Lee said casually, “And I’ll fetch George in a jiffy.” He jumped suddenly in the air and disappeared without a sound. 

The five young wizards dispersed within the mingling shoppers. Ron and Hermione walked off, discussing presents to get the various Weasley brothers. Draco muttered something incomprehensible and slipped off to look at the potions, leaving Harry and Ginny to meander about the store. 

“Let’s check out the new sweets,” Ginny suggested, and Harry followed her to the wall of glass drawers that held all the different kinds of candy. 

Ginny stood on her tiptoes to peer into a drawer of Ton-Tongue Toffees, wrinkled her nose, and looked into the next one. Harry stepped back and trailed his eyes over the case, searching for the tell-tale black of licorice. 

“Oh, look!” Ginny said happily, tapping a drawer of small, colored jawbreakers, “These change your hair color as you suck on the different layers. Ron’ll like that.” 

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, bending to read the label on another drawer. **Licorice Lip-Biters: The licorice allsorts that’ll try to eat you before you eat them!** Harry raised an eyebrow and backed away from the motionless, innocent-looking licorice. He decided to wait until they went shopping at a normal sweetshop. 

Ginny had wandered off to a different part of the store, muttering something about a present for Luna. Spotting her fiery-red hair in the crowd of shoppers, Harry moved to follow her.

Someone seized his arm and jerked him into a nearby photo booth. Why the Weasley’s joke shop had a photo booth, Harry could not fathom, but he didn’t spend much time dwelling on it. He grabbed his wand from his pocket and spun around to face his attacker. 

“ _Potter!_ Merlin’s sake, it’s only me!” Draco let go of his arm immediately, wearing a vexed expression. 

Harry huffed, his heart still pounding. “Was that really necessary? I thought someone was going to kill me.” 

“I was trying to get you alone.”

“There are much easier ways to do that. Something like,” Harry cleared his throat, raised his voice slightly, and made a haughty face, “‘Potter, I _must_ talk you to alone.’”

“I don’t sound like that,” Draco grumbled, sitting down on the photo booth’s tiny bench. “Besides, that would’ve looked too suspicious.” 

“Oh, more suspicious then yanking me into a closed space?” 

“Never mind, Potter. Sit down.” 

Harry sighed sharply, but he joined Draco on the bench. 

The Slytherin lowered his voice. “I’m ready to address it.” 

Harry furiously tamped down the butterflies fluttering in his stomach. “Address what?” He asked, but he knew exactly what. 

Draco ignored his faked ignorance and continued, “Look, what happened yesterday was a mistake. I wanted to properly apologize for it.” 

“Malfoy, don’t-”

“Don’t apologize, I know. But I’m serious, Potter, it shouldn’t have happened. It only happened because of a lack of self-control on my part.”

“Yeah, well, I kissed you back, didn’t I?” Harry said hotly, “So we both don’t have self-control.” 

Draco pursed his lips. “You…doing it back is a mystery to me,” He admitted. 

“I like you, okay?” Harry stated bluntly. “I don’t know how it happened, or why, but somehow I have feelings for you, _strong_ feelings, and I don’t really know what to do with them, and I’m honestly kind of panicking about it because I’ve never felt this way about another boy before, least of all a boy who only last year wanted me dead.” He said this all very fast and looked at the floor when he finished. 

Draco took a moment to process, then said softly, “You’re wrong.” 

Harry looked at him in confusion. “What do you…?”

“I hated you last year, I’m not going to deny it. Ever since the day you rejected my friendship, I hated you, though all the while, I still wanted to be you. You had a perfect life.” 

“That’s not true.” 

“It was more perfect than mine, anyway,” Draco countered. “But you’re wrong on one count. I never wanted you dead.” His face was stony and impassive, but his eyes were liquid mercury. 

Harry watched the Slytherin crumple into himself the only way he knew how, crossing his legs, folding his hands, and looking away. “Do you still hate me?” Harry asked quietly. 

“You should know the answer to that.” 

He did. Harry reached out and turned Draco’s face towards him, fingers brushing over his pale jaw. 

“Don’t,” Draco murmured, but even as he gently guided Harry’s hand away, he leaned in. His emotions pushed and pulled within him, scrawled plainly on his face. Only millimeters separated them, and Harry prepared to close the distance-

“Gotcha!” A girl shouted, throwing away the photobooth’s curtain. The two young men jumped apart, pressing themselves against the opposite sides of the small box. Draco’s head hit the wall with a thunk, and he winced. 

“Um, hello?” Harry said to the girl - she looked a little younger than Hogwarts age, wearing winter robes and brown pigtails. 

“Oh. You’re not my brother,” She said sadly and wandered away. 

“Do you know her?” Harry asked, utter confusion on his face. Draco only shrugged in response, rubbing his head where he banged it. “Oh…Are you okay?” He reached to touch Draco’s head, but the Slytherin promptly swatted his hand away. 

“I’m fine, Potter,” He snapped, and at Harry’s hurt expression added, “But thank you for your concern, or whatever.” 

Harry frowned in response but didn’t deign to come up with a retort. They slid out of the photo booth, both doing their best not to acknowledge what had just happened, not even with a look. Thankfully, Ginny and the others had entirely scattered throughout the store and hadn’t noticed them. 

“This discussion isn’t over,” Harry said under his breath as he and Draco looked for their group. 

The Slytherin gave him a regrettably frigid look. “We’ll see.” 

• • •

The next morning, the day before Christmas, the Burrow bustled with enough activity to keep everyone busy. Percy, Luna, and Xenophilius Lovegood all arrived to stay for a couple nights - their presence in addition to George Weasley’s meant Draco was forced to move into Ron’s room. Ron himself was not entirely pleased about it but managed to keep his mouth shut for Harry’s benefit. Though Harry was too busy being frustrated with and confused about Draco to care. 

Mrs. Weasley sent the youngsters all about the house to dust the furniture polish the windows, weed the garden, and help her in the kitchen. Even Draco, who Harry suspected had never done a menial chore in his life, helped out as an excuse to avoid conversation. 

In the early evening, twilight glittering on the white snow, the work had finally been completed. Stifled from the warmth and labor inside the house, Harry, Ron, Hermione, George, Ginny, Luna, and Draco bundled up in their various coats and scarfs to venture into the fresh winter chill. 

“It’s so cold,” Ginny said, already shivering. “Why don’t we get some brooms out and - oof!” A giant snowball had hit her in the stomach. Across the yard, George put on his best innocent expression and put his snowy gloves behind his back. “Oh, you wanna play that way, huh?” His sister threatened, pulling out her wand. 

“Hey, that’s cheating,” George pointed out, already molding another snowball. “No magic allowed.” 

Ginny huffed but immediately scooped up a handful of snow, packed it, and tossed it at him. Her aim was dead-on, but George dodged the snowball, and it hit Hermione instead. 

Hermione gasped, and Ginny started to giggle. “My bad,” She said, none too remorsefully. 

“Oh, it’s on.” Ron came immediately to his girlfriend’s aid, and he and George began to work speedily on a new barrage of snowballs. 

In no time, two sides had formed: George, Ron, and Hermione stood on one side of the yard while Harry, Draco, and Ginny held their ground on the other. Luna drifted between teams, giggling whenever snow got in her hair and making snow angels. 

Childhood came back to the seven young adults in a flurry, their joyful screams echoing through the winter afternoon. For a few minutes, Harry completely forgot about all the teenage drama and the threat of new enemies - and judging by Draco’s rare grin, he felt the same way. 

“Time out, time out,” Ginny said after a while. Breathless, she collapsed onto the ground. The other six knelt down as well, warm and panting. 

“I reckon Mum wants us to help with dinner,” George said, and the other Weasley children mumbled in reluctant agreement. Brushing the snow off their clothes, the Hogwarts students headed inside. 

Draco hung back, hands in his pockets. Harry turned and looked askance at him; the Slytherin’s silver eyes wandered about the ground in thought. 

“You were right,” He said finally, and Harry took a step towards him. “They’re warming up to me, after all. Even though I spent so much time hating them.” 

“Well…You spent so much time hating a lot of people,” Harry pointed out.

Draco gave a wry laugh in response. “Yes…” He trailed off, and both of them walked together towards the house. 

Everyone else was inside now, their chatter drifting out over the snow-covered grass. A warm, golden lambency emitted from the Burrow’s lower windows, and with it came the feeling of home. 

Their hands brushed on accident at first. An urge came over Harry, and before he could talk himself out of it, he interlaced Draco’s gloved fingers with his. The Slytherin tensed at the sudden display of affection, but he didn’t pull away until they reached the door. 

“I still don’t get it,” Draco said thoughtfully as their hands drifted apart. “Why you’re so intent on giving me a second chance.” 

“Maybe it’s because…” Harry shrugged. “I’ve always gotten a lot more chances than you have. And you sought me out first, after all.” 

A sweltering summer night. Shadowed faces basking in the light of a merciful spell. 

“I did, didn’t I.” 

Wintry wind kissed their exposed skin. Harry opened the door, and they entered the warmth of the Burrow. Something was giving at long last, barriers tumbling down and melting. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly-equal parts of character and plot development going on...Harry-Draco interactions are at the forefront, of course, but we also get a glimpse of how Draco's getting along with the others.


	20. Enough

Christmas came dressed in freshly fallen snow and an azure sky dotted with a few immaculate, fluffy clouds. The Burrow’s residents, despite being on the cusp of adulthood, still rushed with enthusiasm downstairs to the living room. The sweet-smelling pine tree that had been bedecked with lights, tinsel, and moving ornaments the day before stood in all its dazzling glory. Beneath it, wrapped in brilliantly colored packages, were…

“Presents!” Ron said happily. 

“Mrs. Weasley, you didn’t have to get us anything,” Hermione said, “That’s too kind of you, really, we’re too old for this.” 

“Well, you gave each other things, didn’t you?” Molly beamed, “And you’re never too old for presents.” 

“Now, I hope you’ll all listen to me this time,” Percy said loudly over the din of the chattering students, “I really think it would be prudent to try and do this neatly.” 

“I completely agree,” George said in a mock-serious tone. “Yes, what we really ought to do is make an assembly line to open these presents. That would be the most efficient.” Then he grinned, picked up a random gift, checked the label, and threw it at Percy. “There, start with that one.” 

Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley, Percy, Xenophilius Lovegood, Luna, Ginny, George, Harry, Hermione, and Ron all arranged themselves in a loose semi-circle by the tree and began to pass the presents around. Draco, after hesitating a minute, sat cross-legged on the floor next to Harry. 

“Luna, I think this is for you…” “Thanks, Mum, I’ve wanted this…” “Here, open mine next…” 

“I have presents?” Draco said, incredulous, as Harry handed him a wrapped box. 

“It’s Christmas, isn’t it?” Harry replied as he tore open a gift from Hermione, revealing _A Modern History of Unforgiveable Curses._ “Thanks, ‘Mione.” 

“It’s got you in it!” She told him excitedly. 

“My parents aren’t really the gift-giving type,” Draco said monotonously, opening his own present. It turned out to be a stack of various licorice-flavored sweets, and Draco bit back a smile as he gave Harry a look. “Getting creative now, are we?” 

Harry feigned an injured expression. “I don’t really know what you like,” He protested. 

Draco smirked and placed the candy behind him. “They’re great. Thank you.” 

George was by far the best gift-giver out of the whole company, delighting his family and friends with customized Weasley’s products. Harry especially loved the model Snitch that spun dizzyingly around his head, disappearing and reappearing whenever it pleased. Ron gave Hermione a gorgeous yet simple silver necklace with a tiny, book-shaped pendant. It was in excellent taste, and both Hermione and Ginny oohed and ahhed over it. 

Once they neared the end of the gift pile, Mrs. Weasley presented a rather squashy package to Draco, who took it dubiously. Recognizing the ambiguous shape, Ron asked, “You made him one?”

“Well, he’s here, isn’t he?” Molly said. “Go on, open it.” 

Draco carefully unwrapped the packaging to reveal a black knitted sweater with a bright green letter D in the center. He unfolded the clothing and ran his hands over the tightly-woven strands of yarn. “You made this?”

“Mum makes them every year,” Ron said, pulling on his own, new maroon sweater. “Without magic.” 

Draco looked around to see that all the Weasley kids, plus Harry, Hermione, and Luna, sported similar garments. An expression of exceptional gratitude and pleasure spread across his face, and he pulled the sweater on immediately. “Thank you, Mrs. Weasley,” He said, and Harry thought he glimpsed tears in the Slytherin’s eyes. “That reminds me…I’ll be right back.” Draco stood and briskly left the room, and his footsteps were heard bounding up seven flights. 

“We can open a couple more while we’re waiting,” Ginny said, taking one of the last presents from underneath the tree, a large, flat package. “Here, Mr. Lovegood.” The gift turned out to be a beautifully made painting of a sunflower field from his daughter, which was admired by everyone present. 

Draco, panting slightly from running upstairs, returned with a glimmering object about the size of a bottle of wine. A white ceramic vase, inlaid with swirling patterns of gold and bits of sapphire, was gently cradled in his hands. He held it out to Mrs. Weasley, who took it carefully, her expression taken aback by the obviously expensive decoration. 

“I bought it in Diagon Alley the other day,” Draco explained, “And then I charmed it. Think of your favorite flowers while holding it.” 

“All right,” Molly closed her eyes and furrowed her brow. After a moment, small purple blooms, followed by green stems, edged out of the vase’s top. A small bunch of irises unfurled, opening in glorious violet bursts. “How pretty!”

“That’s very complicated magic,” Hermione said, eyes widening owlishly. 

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Draco’s chin tilted upwards proudly. “They’ll die if you take them out, unfortunately. But the spells I placed should last a long while.” 

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Draco,” Arthur said approvingly. Even Percy looked impressed. 

Draco, rightly pleased with himself, retook his seat next to Harry while the last of the presents were opened. 

“I never saw you buy that,” Harry said quietly to him, quite astonished. 

“I can be sneaky when I want to be,” Draco replied vaguely. “Do you think it won them over?” Ginny had the vase now, making roses bloom out of the top. Luna brushed their soft petals in wonder. 

Harry, who knew the Weasleys well enough, was aware that they were not so easily swayed by material things. “Not with the vase,” Harry told him. “With your kindness.” 

Draco gave him a curious look. “I never thought anyone would use that word to describe me.” 

Molly set the vase in the kitchen, where a shocking bouquet of irises, roses, and daisies had grown. Everyone gathered their haphazard stacks of presents, and Percy swept the torn wrapping paper and scattered ribbons into the bin with a flourish of his wand. 

“Make yourselves some pancakes if you like,” Mrs. Weasley said, sinking tiredly into the sofa. “The batter’s in the fridge.” 

“Come on, kids,” George said jovially, “I’ll teach you how to make pancakes in the shape of a-”

“George!”

“A _star,_ Mum, that’s all I was going to say...”

The teenagers gathered in the kitchen to make their late breakfast, either settling for classic circles or branching out into more adventurous figurines. The rest of Christmas Day stretched before them like a warm, glorious promise. Harry recalled the Christmas before - he and Hermione camped out in the forest, alone, wondering if Ron would return, his wand broken, despair settling over them both faster than winter setting in…

Harry looked down at his pancakes, pushing away the unwelcome memories. He wanted to focus on the bright present, the unscathed people in front of him, the new friend who sat innocuously by his side. 

And he wished, desperately, that it would last forever. Even if doing so was wretchedly futile. 

• • •

The quarter moon shone hesitantly onto the glittering snow, peeking its bright and curious face around the earth’s shadow. Standing beneath the crest of the hill was the town of Ottery St Catchpole. Windows from the many homes glittered with cheer, the solemn and silent church steeple standing over them like a mother watching her children. Within most houses gathered groups of family and friends, both wizards and Muggles, winding down after a well-spent, peaceful Christmas. The Burrow was no different, though, with six teenagers residing inside, it was a bit more chaotic than usual. 

“Aha!” Ron shouted suddenly, making them all jump. “I’ve got a pair! of…oh…” The seven of spades, right before his eyes had changed into a four of hearts. 

“Damn it all, I needed that card,” Ginny griped, shuffling her hand. “Er…Luna, got any sixes?” 

“Go search,” Luna said dreamily, absentmindedly fanning her face with the cards.

“I’ve got one!” Ginny exclaimed as she picked a card from the draw pile, then she frowned. “Oh. Never mind.” She huffed, placing the card in within her others. “I’m _this_ close to waking George up to ask him how to stop these from changing.” 

“That would defeat the purpose,” Hermione said soothingly - easy for her to say since she was winning by three pairs. “Wait a moment…Yes! A four, I win!” She cried, much to the dismay of her friends. “Shall we play again?”

“No, let’s do a different game…” 

Harry tossed his cards into the central pile and bumped his shoulder into Draco’s. “Want to get a refill?” He said, referring to their empty cups of hot chocolate.

The Slytherin nodded, and the pair slipped away from the beginnings of a sibling spat over the next game. Harry filled their mugs with warm milk while Draco measured out the cocoa. 

“I have something for you,” Harry remembered suddenly, digging a hand into his jean pocket. 

Draco tilted his head. “Oh?” 

“Here.” Harry took Draco’s wrist and placed a small object into his open palm. Draco peered at a pin emblazoned with a moving, illustrated image of a scarlet squid drifting in green water; it waved its tentacles serenely, brushing through minutely-detailed strands of seaweed. “I doknow a bit more about what you like,” Harry said, “At least, I think you like squids...At Honeydukes, and when we watched the giant squid in the Black Lake.” 

“I remember.” Fondness played over Draco’s face, a soft contrast to his usual shielded expression. He closed his fingers over the pin and slipped it into his own pocket. “Thank you.”

_Thank you._ Harry found it strange, yet refreshing, to hear that from a former rival’s lips. It was refreshing to have Draco’s gratitude passed so quickly to him. So trustingly. 

“That’s two presents from you and none from me,” Draco said, frowning. “Trying to get me to owe something, Potter?”

“You did give me this necklace,” Harry mentioned, gesturing to his chest where the chain hung.

“Yes, well. That’s a bit too long ago to count. I’ll pay you back sometime.”

“You don’t have to, really-”

“If I want to, I will.” 

Unexpectedly, Draco reached forward and took Harry’s hand, raising it to his mouth. Draco pressed his lips to Harry’s knuckles with uncharacteristic softness, maintaining disarming eye contact as he did so. The suddenness of Draco in Harry’s senses - his fingers curling, tips brushing the other’s palm, his silver eyes piercing and melting all at once, the lingering scent of sweet gardenias in his hair - sent butterflies racing all across Harry’s body. 

He was close, too close - _no, close enough_ , Harry thought dizzyingly. Draco’s lips edged down to Harry’s wrist and tantalizingly stopped there. There was something gorgeously intimate about knowing that Draco was teasing him deliberately, even more so than their impromptu kiss. 

Draco paused, letting their hands fall away, but he kept them entwined. With his other arm, he leaned casually against the kitchen counter, not-so-subtly filling more of the space between them. Harry’s heart was beating so loudly in his ears, he wondered how the whole house didn’t hear it. 

“So…was that your way of paying me back?” Harry’s response didn’t sound as smooth as it did in his head, but it coaxed a smile out of his friend. 

“If it’s enough for you. Do you really like me that much, Potter?” 

“Maybe,” Harry replied cheekily. Their faces were well within kissing distance, he realized - and though the living room was far away and it would only take a minute, he didn’t feel pressured to take the leap. Part of him wanted to stay forever, just like this, halfway in and halfway out of Draco’s arms, head titled slightly upward to look him in the eyes. 

“You’re blushing,” Draco said smugly, and Harry’s face felt warm enough for him to realize that there was no denying it.

“Yeah, so?” 

“Nothing,” Draco shrugged, his face becoming more impassive as he added, “It’s cute.”

Harry opened and closed his mouth, then pursed his lips to keep from smiling. Draco snickered, not unkindly. “Come on, let’s go back,” He suggested, taking his mug. The Slytherin’s other hand relinquished Harry’s, but Harry didn’t feel as bothered by it as he had before. After all, Draco was still here with him - not about to run away, both of them safe and happy. At least Draco walked side by side with the Chosen One, like equals, as they were.

Which was the best Christmas gift Harry could have asked for. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can probably to tell, I adore writing holiday scenes. I realize I'm spending a lot of time on the Burrow, but home is a place where characters show their true colors - so the reader can understand their motivations better. And of course, plot things!


	21. Stay Safe

Luna and her father left the Burrow the day after, waving amicable goodbyes as they headed over the hill towards their home. George, whose shop re-opened from the holidays later that day, bid his siblings and younger friends farewell. Percy left his childhood home as well, with much fanfare about his new apartment in London. 

“Living alone is dreary,” He lamented, “But it’s quite an accomplished feeling to live under a roof paid for by one’s own wages.” 

“Goodbye, Percy,” Ron said over him. 

“Really, I must broach the subject of domestic relations with dear Penelope - poor girl still living with her parents-”

“Good _bye_ , Percy,” Ginny said, “See you this summer.” 

“Oh, very well, see you later,” Percy said airily, and after a quick kiss on his mother’s cheek, Apparated away with a _pop_. 

“That’s that, then,” Ron yawned, inching towards the stairs, “I want to try out that new thingamajig George gave me-”

“You think I haven’t forgotten?” Molly chided, whipping out a piece of paper from her robes, “Boxing Day chores, as usual, Ron.” 

“Cleaning the coops?” Ginny wrinkled her nose, turning to her brother and his girlfriend. “That’s a three-person job, we’ll start with that.” 

“I’ll show you how to de-gnome the garden,” Harry said, gesturing for Draco to follow him outside. 

“De-gnoming?” Draco said dubiously, and after they were out of Mrs. Weasley’s earshot, added, “Isn’t that a servant’s job?”

“See any servants around here?” Harry responded, looping his scarf around his neck. “Come on, it’ll be fun.” 

“If you say so…” 

Snow, thin on the ground where people had trekked through it, still dusted the garden’s greenery with coats of white. The trees standing nearby shivered in the wind, their branches stripped of nearly all their dying leaves. 

Harry squinted into the bushes and spotted a couple of tiny, lumpy shapes squatting in the darkness, sheltering themselves from the cold. Draco bent down as well, watching as Harry suddenly grabbed one of the figures and lifted it into the air. 

The gnome in his hand squealed in protest, shaking its large, potato-like head and swinging its bony feet. Draco regarded the unpleasant creature with a look of disgust. 

“Grab them firmly and don’t let them bite you,” Harry said, raising his voice over the gnome’s squeals. He flipped the creature over, grasped its feet, and began to swing it in a circle, faster and faster. With a slight grunt, the young wizard flung the gnome over the low, stone wall. “Not bad,” Harry shielded his eyes from the sunlight as he watched the creature fly through the air and land a good fifty feet away. “Go on, give it a try.” 

Draco uncertainly grabbed a gnome from underneath the bushes and let it dangle by one foot. 

“Spin it a bunch of times to get it nice and dizzy,” Harry instructed, and Draco did so. “Once you’ve got enough momentum…Throw!” 

Draco clumsily tossed the lightheaded gnome over the garden wall, and it landed about ten feet away. “Damn,” The Slytherin said, lowering his outstretched arm. Behind him, a group of curious gnomes edged out of the bushes to see what was going on. 

“You’ll get the hang of it.”

“I should certainly hope so. I can’t let you beat me, can I?” Draco said, bending down to pick up a second gnome. Harry grinned in response and grabbed another as well, and the two young men continued to de-gnome the garden, throwing the small, ugly creatures as far as they could. 

“Last chance,” Harry said, panting. He had just performed a spectacular throw of nearly sixty feet, while Draco still had yet to pass the threshold of forty. 

The Slytherin’s brow furrowed as he picked up the very last gnome. “You’re going down, Potter,” He proclaimed, but then a white shape swooping in from the sky startled them both. 

A beautiful, snowy owl flew down from the heavens, and Harry was reminded painfully of Hedwig. But this bird was slightly smaller than she had been, with distinctive gray markings in its feathers. 

The owl stopped in front of Draco, flapping its wings to stay afloat, a letter clutched in its beak. Gnome still in hand, Draco took the note with a frown. The owl gave a confirmatory screech and sped away again, its pale shape disappearing into the bright sky. 

The gnome took the opportunity to bite Draco with its razor-sharp teeth, and the wizard gave a cry, dropping the creature. “Son of a…” Draco inhaled sharply as crimson blood dripped from his hand onto the snow-covered ground. Shaking away the pain, he read the address on the letter, eyes widening in astonishment. 

“What?” Harry asked as Draco’s jaw dropped. “What, who’s it from?” The Slytherin ignored him and opened the letter with anxious hands. His eyes sped over the message in less than a minute, his expression changing from surprise to concern to fear in a short period. When he was finished, he tossed the letter aside, and Harry caught it, curious to see what caused Draco to shake so violently. 

**Dearest Draco,**

**Your father and I are in St. Mungo’s, recovering from an attack in October. Only now can I physically write to you - but do not reply as I am not supposed to contact anyone outside the hospital.**

**It causes me the utmost pain to tell you that your father and I will likely go to Azkaban. No matter how much he has tried to convince the Ministry of our innocence. I do not know what will happen to you, but I fervently hope they will let you off on account of your age.**

**What happened a few months ago, at our house, is a mystery to all of us. My memory is hazy, and my mind fractured; I fear I will lose even the wisps of recollection as time goes on.**

**The house holds the key to the truth, I’m sure of it. I do not wish for you to put yourself in danger, Draco, but the house holds the truth of what happened that night. If you go, you must not be seen by those who may still reside there. I shudder to think of what would happen if you were caught.**

**Stay safe, always.**

**Narcissa**

Harry looked up from the letter to see Draco pacing back and forth in the snow, muttering to himself and running nervous hands through his blond hair. “I have to go…But they’ll kill me…I need to find out what happened,” He said quietly. 

“Malfoy, you can’t,” Harry interjected, but Draco did not look up. _No way he’s going out there alone._ Harry thought fiercely, _He’ll die._ “Draco.” The Slytherin caught his gaze then - terror meeting with concern. “It’s too dangerous, you can’t possibly go this second. We should let someone in the Ministry know to apprehend whoever’s in there.”

“Did you even read that letter, Potter?” Draco spat. “The Ministry won’t be on our side. My parents…” Love struggling with hatred on his face. “They’ll be shut up in Azkaban the second they’re fully healed, thanks to whoever attacked our house. I need to know who did this so I can stop them. I need to know who was behind me, telling my- Lucius, what to do.” Draco clenched his fists. His jaw was set. 

“You’re not going now?” 

“There’s no time! The second that owl gets back, my mother will be under suspicion, and the house will be searched, interfered with. I’d much rather find out what happened myself than let the Ministry twist the truth for me.” Draco whipped out his wand and gripped it between his fingers. “I have to go. I’m sorry.” His body jerked, then he disappeared with a _pop_. 

“No!” Harry’s heart leaped into his throat. _He might not make it out alive._ “ _Accio_ Invisibility Cloak!” He shouted, wand pointing towards the house. Shimmering fabric shot out of an open window, and he caught it deftly, spinning in midair and Apparating, Malfoy Manor looming in his mind with all the intensity of a nightmare. 

• • •

Hurried footsteps echoed down the pathway as Draco sprinted towards the gate. Snow lay in piles on either side, watching him with icy disapproval. He made it to the gate and reached out, then a _pop_ sounded behind him. Draco spun around immediately, wand outstretched, and came face to face with Harry Potter. 

“You idiot!” Draco snapped, lowering his weapon. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

“I’m not the idiot here,” Harry said, holding out his cloak. “At least _try_ to conceal yourself.”

Draco huffed but allowed Harry to drape the garment over them both. “You’re utterly insufferable, you know that?” 

“Whatever, Malfoy,” Harry gestured for Draco to open the gate. “Go on.” 

Draco placed his invisible hand onto the wrought-iron bars, which dissolved into smoke. The pair of them stepped through it, wands at the ready. The distance between them and the closed mansion door lessened with every step. Twenty feet. Ten feet. Five feet. 

The doorknob twisted in Draco’s grip, then stopped. Locked. “ _Alohomora_ ,” Draco whispered, and the door gave under his touch. With a deep breath, he crossed the threshold, Harry following at his heels. 

A gathering of dust puffed at their feet as the door swung inwards. The spacious foyer and living room was deserted, furniture pushed to the sides, a layer of fine grey powder covering everything. The large windows, cloudy with grime, let only a few rays of precious sunlight stream through. 

“ _Homenum Revelio_ ,” Harry whispered, and waited for the spell to pass through the house. “Nothing. Someone could be hiding, though…” 

“This isn’t right,” Draco muttered, but he pulled the cloak off of them and straightened his posture. “They left?” Harry cautiously followed suit, eyes continuously roaming about for any sign of the enemy.

“Let’s take a look around the house. See what’s out of place.” Then Harry remembered that this was not his house, and Malfoy Manor would likely have many things that seemed out of place to him. “Er…maybe we should stick together.”

Draco sighed. “Yes. Let’s start from the ground up. Follow me.” He headed for a door embedded into the wall, and a chill ran through Harry’s blood. He knew what lay behind that door: the stairs, digging deep into the bowels of the house, where Luna and Ollivander’s grimy faces looked towards him for help, where Wormtail’s silver hand clutched around his throat-

“I’ll wait here,” Harry said quickly. Draco paused, reading the trepidation on his face, and nodded. 

“Okay. I’ll be right back.” Draco’s hurried footsteps echoed and faded away. Harry kept his back to the cellar door, wand out in case of a sudden attack. Dust motes floated down from the alcoves, drifting on beams of weak, grey light. 

Draco returned soon, closing the door quietly behind him. “Nothing. Let’s check the kitchen next.” 

The pair moved from room to opulent room; the empty vastness of the house spooked Harry, but he was glad that it at least appeared to be void of other people. The second and third floors were equally deserted and abandoned, everything exactly how the Malfoy family had left it. 

Draco stopped at a room at the end of the final hallway, opened the door, and peeked inside. He hesitated at the threshold, not pushing the door open more than a crack. “Aren’t we going in?” Harry asked. The Slytherin shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. 

“Yes,” He said uncertainly, and they entered. 

It was Draco’s room. Three times the size of Harry’s old bedroom back at the Dursley’s, with a high ceiling, an adjoining balcony, a large four-poster bed draped in an emerald-colored comforter, a walk-in closet, a neatly organized desk and a fireplace on one end. A bulletin board took up about half of one wall, and Harry approached it curiously. He spotted a few newspaper clippings with bold headlines like _Boy Survives Curse in Godric’s Hollow; Triwizard Tragedy: Student Killed In Tournament Accident; Six Hogwarts Students Involved in Ministry Break-In_ …Harry thought he glimpsed his own face, eyes peering out from behind round-framed glasses - then Draco pointed his wand at the bulletin, and it immediately flipped itself over, presenting its blank side. 

“What was that?” Harry asked Draco, who seemed embarrassed. 

“Research, it was for…never mind.” Draco’s eyes looked away from Harry’s and came to rest on the extinguished fireplace. He gave a little gasp and stepped closer, Harry following him closely. “Look.” 

A small object lay in front of the grate, so unobtrusive that Harry missed it the first time he glanced hastily around the room. It was a mask made of intricately carved wood, one of its edges charred, black, and appearing soft. The mask took the form of a snarling wolf, with two eye-shaped holes. The design, fearsome and familiar, was unmistakable.

 _Oh no._ Harry and Draco exchanged a glance. The Slytherin’s eyes were wide with shock. _No…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this chapter! Drama and descriptions are one of my favorite aspects about writing.


	22. Sparks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not that this really needs a warning, but the last scene contains sexual undertones.

“You have to help me.” 

Draco’s hands gripped Harry’s T-shirt with desperate strength. His silver eyes wore the exact same fearful expression as they did the afternoon before, piercing and terrified. He seemed to finally feel the shock of their earlier discovery, panic setting in after twelve hours of numb, impassive processing. 

Harry did not feel rightly equipped to deal with his friend’s pleading at the moment. The sun had barely crested the horizon, and the Burrow’s residents were only just starting to stir. But the Gryffindor blinked away the tiredness from his eyes, grasped Draco’s wrists, and pried his hands away from his clothes. 

“Hey, everything’s going to be fine,” Harry said soothingly, though, in reality, he had no idea how this was all going to turn out. The strange Thai wizards had shown up at the former Death Eater headquarters for unknown reasons, and that scared him profoundly. Powerful enemies, old and new, perhaps fighting each other, or worse, joining forces…that did not bode well for anyone. “How can I help?” 

“I…” Draco faltered, his hands trembling. “I don’t know. Maybe - maybe we need to tell someone. Or seek the attackers, figure out exactly what’s going on…” 

Harry shook his head. “No way. That’d be a suicide mission.” At “suicide,” Draco’s eyes darted away, and Harry pressed on, “But maybe there’s someone we can tell. Someone who can take more action than we can.”

“Who?”

“I dunno, let me think.” The first people to come to mind were those that were left in the Order of the Phoenix. Surely they’d know best how to handle Dark wizards…and yet, Harry sorely disliked the idea of dragging them into yet another conflict. But there was someone from the Order who had enough power and people at his command to deal with this new threat properly…

“The Minister of Magic.” 

“Involve the Ministry?” Draco’s voice was damp with suspicion. “Absolutely not. They’re more the ‘lock people up, ask questions later’ type. And I’d rather not let them toss me in Azkaban just yet.” 

“Why on earth would they put you in Azkaban?” 

“My Death Eater crimes are stacked against me, Potter. The only reason I’m not in there now is that I agreed to spend another year at Hogwarts. After that…I don’t know. Parole, if I’m lucky.” 

This was news to Harry, who did a poor job of disguising the shock on his face. Draco scowled. “Anyway, that’s not important. The Minister would be the last person I’d tell.” 

“I know him. He’s a decent bloke, I promise. He’ll keep everything confidential.” Kingsley Shacklebolt, with his deep and reassuring voice and persona of invincibility. Harry trusted him with his life; surely, the man could handle sensitive information. “Kingsley will investigate right away without getting you or your family into more trouble. Unless…” He hesitated. “There’s not anything incriminating left in the manor, is there?” 

Draco rolled his eyes, and the familiar gesture showed Harry that he had relaxed a bit. “Of course not, Potter. We’re not stupid.” 

“Fine. I’ll get some paper, and we’ll write to the Minister.” Harry gave Draco’s hands a comforting squeeze before slipping back into his shared room. 

Ron turned over in his sleep as Harry took some parchment, a quill, and ink from his trunk. He paused, waiting to see if the redhead would wake up, but Ron’s eyes remained closed. Harry frowned, gently closing the lid; he realized he was keeping many secrets from his best friend these days, more than he ever had. It stung to know that they were drifting apart, but hopefully, the distance was temporary. _Fix one problem at a time,_ Harry chided himself and returned to the hallway.

“Let’s go into your room,” Harry said quietly, and the pair moved to Bill’s old bedroom. Draco anxiously perched on the edge of the bed while Harry sat cross-legged near the pillows, setting down the bottle of ink on the nightstand. “We’ll keep it short,” Harry decided, “Just tell him what we know and how we found out. But I won’t mention your mum’s letter.” 

Draco wrung his hands as Harry’s quill began to scrawl across the parchment. “I wish I could ask him if I could visit my parents. But seeing as Mother wasn’t supposed to send letters-” 

“It’d look too suspicious,” Harry agreed grimly. “Hey…maybe we could ask McGonagall personally about seeing your parents once we’d get back. If anyone can request something from the Ministry and actually get it, it’s her.” 

Draco nodded quickly. “I don’t even know _why_ I want to see them,” He said bitterly, “Especially my father. But no matter how angry I want to be at them, it’s You-Know-Who I’m angry at. Him and all his mindless followers.” Pure, unadulterated hatred for the Dark wizards who so ruthlessly beat him and his family down was displayed clearly on Draco’s face. So unnerved was Harry by the Slytherin’s expression that he focused on writing the letter and didn’t look up until he had finished. 

“There,” Harry held the letter out for Draco to read, and the Slytherin approved it with a nod. “I’ll ask Ginny and Ron later if I can borrow their owl.” 

“Okay.” Draco’s voice was cold and miles away. 

“Hey. Look at me,” Harry said softly, and Draco did, hesitantly. “Everything’s going to be fine, Malfoy.” He repeated the statement like a mantra, trying just as hard to convince himself as his friend. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

• • •

The next week passed with agonizing slowness as they waited anxiously for a reply. Pigwidgeon, the fluffy grey feather ball within Ron’s and Ginny’s joint custody, delivered the small letter in only a couple of days, but came back empty-handed - or rather, empty-beaked. When Harry returned the owl to Ron with an expression of gratitude, Draco only stood silently by, his face waxy and disquieted from the lack of a responding letter. 

“What if it got into the wrong hands?” Draco repeatedly worried whenever he was alone with Harry. “What if he simply doesn’t care about helping a Death Eater family?” 

Harry thought both those situations highly unlikely, but no matter how much he voiced this, Draco continued to fret. Finally, on the day before New Year’s, Harry put his foot down. 

“Relax, will you?” He told Draco as he dumped wood into the firepit in the garden. Draco sat on the ground nearby, crossly burning random patterns into the snow with his wand. 

“ _Relax_ ,” Draco spoke the word like a curse. “It’s been a whole week! There’s no way he hasn’t gotten the letter by now.” 

“Maybe he’s waiting to answer it,” Harry said, drying the damp logs with a few muttered spells. “It’s the holidays, after all. Take your mind off it for today, at least.” 

“Ah, yes. Because it’s so easy to make myself stop worrying,” Draco said sarcastically.

“I’m excited for tonight,” Harry stated, as if he hadn’t heard him, “George dropped off some cool fireworks and butterbeer. The alcoholic kind. That’ll be fun, right?” 

“I guess,” Draco frowned, stood up, and resolutely kicked at a pile of snow. “Funny how people see the new year as a new beginning,” He muttered. “But nothing ever changes.” 

Harry was inclined to disagree, but he said nothing more. Instead, he walked silently by Draco’s side as they went back into the house. Secretly, Draco’s worry had rubbed off on him, but Harry did his best not to give into it. All they could do was wait.

• • •

Full with a lavish dinner and Mrs. Weasley’s strawberry-rhubarb pie, six teenagers sat around the fire pit beneath a starlit sky. Luna had arrived a couple of hours before to celebrate the new year; she and Ginny sat close together on fold-out chairs. Mrs. and Mr. Weasley had stayed out long enough to watch the self-starting firework show George had left them, beautiful and intricate bursts of color lighting up the midnight. But they soon retired to bed, leaving the teens with a handful of sparklers and bottles of butterbeer.

Glowing red cinders spun from the fire and evaporated in the air, the flames casting a uniform orange glow over everyone’s faces. A couple of them held sparklers, thin sticks that buzzed with electricity-like sparks for a good ten minutes before going out. Ginny had brought a bag of marshmallows outside, and her friends were having a merry time making them float into the flames with their wands, dousing them in the snow if they caught on fire for too long. 

“So, what are you all looking forward to doing in 1999?” Luna asked, retrieving her perfectly browned marshmallow. “Let’s go in a circle. Ginny?” 

“I’m looking forward to demolishing the other houses in Quidditch and winning the Cup,” Ginny proclaimed. 

“I know a lot of people aren’t looking forward to this, but I simply cannot wait to start our career guidance sessions,” Hermione said, her eyes shining. Next to her, Ron looked a bit queasy at the prospect of planning for adulthood. “Professor Dahlia says I have a knack for negotiating, and could possibly make it as a top-tier Ministry official.”

“You’d be great, Hermione,” Harry said encouragingly, and the rest of their friends agreed. 

“I guess I’m ready to finally graduate from Hogwarts,” Ron said honestly. “It’s been great, and all, and I’m a little apprehensive of the future, but I kind of want to see what’s out there, you know? What about you, Harry?” 

“Same for me. I’m excited to start training to be an Auror,” Harry declared, grinning. He’d had his heart set on the profession ever since the fifth year; under no circumstances would he give up on that dream. 

It was Draco’s turn now, and he tensed uncomfortably under everyone’s gaze. “I guess…Same as Weasley. Looking forward to the future.” His voice quavered slightly at the last word, and though everyone else missed it, Harry certainly hadn’t. 

“I don’t really have any career aspirations just yet,” Luna said dreamily, “But this summer, I’m looking forward to starting a new floating flower garden on the roof of our house.” 

“That sounds really cool,” Ginny said enthusiastically. “A toast, then,” She added, raising her bottle of butterbeer, “To the future and to flower gardens. To 1999.” 

“To 1999!” Echoed the five other voices, mixing with the clinking of glass and the crackling flames. 

Under cover of the chatter and downing of butterbeer, Draco quietly excused himself and slipped away towards the house. Harry didn’t realize he was gone until a few minutes later and flinched at the realization of his friend’s absence. Looking up, he saw the light glowing from behind drawn curtains on the seventh floor. A silhouette moved restlessly beyond it, pacing. 

Around one in the morning, Harry placed his empty bottle back in its cardboard box of origin and stood up. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight, everyone. Have a nice rest of your holiday, Luna, if I don’t see you again.” 

“You too, Harry.” “’Night, mate.” “Goodnight.” “Goodnight, Harry.”

The Burrow, snug after the midwinter chill, was comfortably quiet when Harry walked in. The house’s magically supported timbers sighed and creaked with every slight gust of wind. A dying fire glowed amber in the living room’s grate, a weary equivalent to the lively bonfire outside. Harry hung his coat up on the many-armed rack nearby, unwinding his scarf and slipping off his borrowed leather gloves before heading upstairs. 

The door to Draco’s room was a touch ajar - not exactly inviting, but Harry pushed it open anyway. Inside, Draco walked absentmindedly back and forth, face buried in a thin stack of parchment, blond hair gleaming in the lamplight. 

“Malfoy?” Harry said tentatively, and Draco looked up abruptly. “Um, hi.”

“Hello.” Draco lowered the pages, which were covered in his neat, cramped cursive, along with a few sketches Harry couldn’t quite make out. “You can come in,” The Slytherin said. “Close the door behind you.” 

Harry did so and ambled cautiously into the room, taking a seat on the edge of the quilt-covered bed. “What are you working on?” He asked amiably. 

“Oh, this…” Draco tossed the pages onto the bed for Harry to see. “Just my end of the term research paper. It helps me take my mind off things.”

Harry picked up the painstakingly detailed notes, which seemed to record some sort of experiment. Phrases like _detonation distance_ , _damage assessed_ , _integration methods,_ and numerous question marks floated haphazardly within the writing. Harry, who had only come up with a tentative thesis for his own essay, felt woefully underprepared compared to Draco’s research. 

“This is extensive,” Harry said, flipping through the pages. “You’re…developing new potions?” 

“More like altering ones that already exist,” Draco replied, flopping in an un-Draco-like way onto the bed next to his friend. “I feel like I’m so close to a breakthrough…But I can’t experiment further until the holidays are over. It’s frustrating.” He sighed, and Harry realized just how utterly exhausted Draco looked, with half-closed eyes and sagging shoulders. “But I really think I can make something worthwhile. Something properly dangerous.” 

Harry swallowed at that last statement, carefully putting the notes down as if they themselves were explosive. “I see…” Though he didn’t quite fully understand, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Keen on changing the subject, Harry blurted, “Have you given more thought to it?” 

Draco frowned in confusion. “Given more thought to what? The letter?” 

“Er, no. The…you know…” Harry took a deep breath. “Our kiss.” Saying out loud made it terribly real, and a part of Harry wished he could yank it back.

Draco raised himself up on his elbows, his silver eyes gleaming curiously from beneath pale lashes. “I have, actually.” Harry had been giving his utmost efforts not to blush up until this point, but then Draco unconsciously licked his lips, and Harry felt heat spreading across his face. _Damn Malfoy and his prettiness._ “Potter…I haven’t been entirely honest with you,” Draco admitted, and Harry raised an eyebrow - lying was, frankly, par for the course when it came to Malfoy. 

Draco’s brow furrowed in thought, and he sat up fully, hands clasping in his lap. “When we were younger, around third to fifth year,” He began, “I had certain…feelings for you. Being gay wasn’t a possibility in my mind back then, so I didn’t recognize that what I felt for you was…well, not love. Fourteen-year-olds don’t really know what love is. But I’ve always admired you, you know.” He dared to meet Harry’s eyes then. Mercury melting into emerald. “Ever since the day we met, you intrigued me. The pureblood who defeated one of the most powerful wizards to ever live. 

“And yet, you were forbidden to me in more ways than one. So, I pushed those feelings away. They didn’t resurface for a long time, and I thought they’d fade completely. I thought you would leave my life for good, and nothing would come of it. But you’re here now.” 

Embarrassed by his revealing speech, Draco fell swiftly silent, his hands fidgeting in his lap. Within the following silence, Harry felt his whole worldview shifting as he realized exactly what Draco’s words meant. Draco Malfoy had a crush on him when they were kids. Draco Malfoy admired The Boy Who Lived just as much as any other young wizard did. Draco had painted an image of his juvenile self that differed from the snarky, mean-spirited Draco that Harry remembered. An impressionable, precocious, though sharp-tongued, child peeked around the corners of their memory for a singular, intriguing moment. 

“And you? Have you anything else to say?”

“Well …it’s just like I said at Diagon Alley. I like you, Malfoy - Draco. I like you a lot more than a friend.” The butterflies soared again through Harry at the sound of his own confession. “Honestly, I never thought I’d ever feel this way about you. But I do. I can’t deny it.” 

A smirk played across Draco’s lips. “How terribly cliché are we, Potter? It’s the same, centuries-old enemies falling for each other story.”

Draco was so close Harry could see the pale, icy blue that ringed his irises. “You think we’re falling for each other?” 

“Anything’s possible.” 

He glanced down at Harry’s lips before leaning forward and catching them with his own. Long fingers brushed Harry’s jaw and entangled themselves in his jet-black hair, tugging him ever closer. Draco’s lips, dry yet soft, parted, and their tongues met with all the clumsiness and vigor of teenage desire. Harry’s senses became overwhelmed with Draco, who smelled of flowers and musky undertones of sweat and the recent bonfire.

Too soon, in Harry’s opinion, they broke apart. His hands had found their way to Draco’s neck, and he let them linger, a nervous heartbeat fluttering beneath his palms.

“Wow,” Harry breathed before he could stop himself, and his cheeks became warm instantly. He began to pull away out of embarrassment, but Draco gently brushed his fingertips on Harry’s face, giving him pause. Residual passion swimming in his half-closed silver eyes, Draco grazed a thumb over Harry’s bottom lip as his own mouth remained only millimeters away. Harry would have thought the Slytherin was teasing him, but his expression remained sincere.

“Your eyes look like emeralds,” Draco murmured, seemingly to himself, looking up from Harry’s lips to his gaze. Realizing he’d said that audibly, he continued, “Ah, sorry…Must be the firewhiskey talking.” 

“You’re drunk?” Harry asked, amused.

Draco hesitated. “Well…no. Are you?”

“Not really.”

And yet, Harry thought, alcohol must have played some part in what happened then. How else could their lips connect once more, deliberately, and with no signs of stopping? How else could Draco tilt his head and push Harry onto the quilt as if he meant to take things further?

Harry let out a sigh of pleasure as Draco pressed his lips, gently, hesitatingly, along his jaw and down his neck. It all felt like something from a dream, lamplight gleaming on blond hair, chaste hands roaming across bodies, perhaps seeking to fulfill less-than-innocent desires…

But where the circumstances might have gone next, neither Draco nor Harry found out, for there came a great burst of sound from downstairs. A whoop of laughter from Ron and the chatter of three others announced the return of the rest of Harry’s friends. The tipsy, reckless moment passed as soon as it had come. Draco sat up immediately, worry and guilt knitted into his face.

“I didn’t mean to keep you,” Draco said, almost apologetically as he stood quickly from the bed. In characteristic gestures, he began to smooth out his sweater and comb his hair back into place with his fingers, as if to erase the prior vulnerability from his figure.

“It’s okay,” Harry replied firmly, hoping Draco didn’t think his advances were unwanted.

“You’d better go,” Draco told him anxiously as they heard the faint goodbyes to Luna from downstairs.

“Er…yeah,” Harry stood up as well, though he made no attempts to improve his appearance - his hair would appear messy no matter what he did to it. Before turning the doorknob, he paused to look at Draco, who worriedly fidgeted with his hands. “Hey, Draco. Don’t think you were making me do that, by the way. I wanted to.”

Draco looked up from his hands and smiled shakily. “Merlin, you always know the right thing to say. You’re making me look bad.”

“That’s impossible,” Harry said swiftly, and internally gave himself a high five for such a smooth reply.

Apparently, Draco thought so too, as Harry could see him actively fighting not to smile. “Whatever, Potter. Just get out before Ron jumps to any lewd conclusions.”

“All right, all right, I’m going. ‘Night, Malfoy.” Grinning, Harry shut the door behind him and made a beeline for his and Ron’s shared bedroom just as he heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

Aware that his best friend wouldn’t fall for feigned sleep, Harry instead made sure he was brushing his teeth when Ron arrived. But a half-hour later, when the lights had been extinguished, and pajamas donned, Harry found it hard to sleep. He lay as the house creaked and groaned in the wind, his mind buzzing with possibilities and his heart spinning in a shower of sparks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this! But you could probably tell. I like to think of this chapter as a crux, a turning point, a cause from which other events will be put into motion. 
> 
> I'd also like to take this time after a hiatus (c. June 2020) to remind the readers that there will be slight discrepancies between this fanfiction and the canon. I re-read the series recently and discovered that Madam Amelia Bones, the Muggle Studies professor, is, in fact, dead. I'm sure if you scour the canon and compare it to this fic you'll find more little mistakes such as these. Please take it all in stride! I'm not human and do not have a perfect memory, nor do I feel like fact-checking every detail. As for characterization discrepancies, that is something to be expected within a fanfiction. Please don't bother me about it, it's a waste of both your time and mine :) Of course, if there are slight typos in the fic that do not change the plot, please let me know! It would be greatly appreciated.


	23. In Need of Assistance

A pecking sound came at the kitchen window an hour after breakfast. It was the Sunday the Hogwarts students had to return to school, and most of them were scattered about the house, looking for lost gloves and deciding whether to pack extra jackets. 

Harry heard the tapping at the glass first, and he immediately dropped his scarf on the dining table at the sight of the owl. With a serious expression, wide yellow eyes, and dark grey feathers ruffling in the wind, the deliverer’s clawed foot held down the letter on the windowsill to keep it from blowing away. Harry hastily lifted the latch, the panes swinging inwards, and the owl swooped onto the top of the nearest chair, dropping the letter onto the table. Harry picked it up and read the address. 

**Minister Shacklebolt to Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy - Weasley Residence, Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, England.**

“Malfoy!” Harry shouted urgently, and he soon heard rapid footsteps coming down the stairs. 

“Open it, open it,” Draco said insistently, and Harry slid the letter open. The owl screeched at them both, and Draco frowned, picked up a piece of half-eaten toast from their breakfast leftovers, and threw it at the bird. The owl caught the food in its beak with a reproachful look. 

Harry held the letter up slightly so Draco could read it over his shoulder, and they both scanned it carefully. 

**Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy,**

**(henceforth referred to as “[the] witnesses”)**

**The Ministry greatly appreciates the information the witnesses gave regarding the evidence found at the residence _8 Twilight Way, Wiltshire, England._ An investigation is currently ongoing at the residence. Evidence was found to be connected to previous encounters with the unknown Asian vigilante group. **

**Witnesses may be contacted at a later date to provide a detailed, verbal account of the evidence’s discovery.**

**Sincerely,**

**Kingsley Shacklebolt**

**Minister for Magic**

The message was brief, cursory, and apparently unsatisfactory, as Draco’s expression grew disappointed as soon as he had finished. “That’s it? No mention of Death Eaters, no questioning of how we even knew to check the house?” Draco said.

Harry folded the letter resolutely. “See, I told you. Kingsley will handle this fine.”

“But say we give an account,” Draco said worriedly. “My mother’s letter is bound to come up somehow, and we’ve probably broken Ministry regulations reading it…”

“Since when have you cared about breaking the law?” Harry asked, but Draco only rolled his eyes and didn’t deign to respond. “Anyway, this is out of our hands now. So you can stop worrying.” 

“I still want to talk to McGonagall,” Draco said, nonetheless unsettled, “About my parents. We should go before school tomorrow morning before classes start.” 

“We?” 

“You’ll come with me, won’t you?” Draco pressed. “If it’s you asking as well, McGonagall will surely find out for us. She’d bend over backward for you.” 

Harry, who could not imagine the stiff headmistress bending in any direction for anyone, protested, “That’s not even remotely true.” 

“Oh?” Draco eyed him skeptically and leaned closer, a bit intimidatingly. “Interesting that you think that.” 

Before Harry could figure out precisely what the Slytherin meant, a third person clearing their throat startled them both. Harry hadn’t realized he had been staring into Draco’s silver eyes, but he tore his gaze away to see Ron standing at the other end of the dining table. The redhead looked back and forth between the other two; Draco stood behind and to the right of Harry, the shorter young man instinctively leaning into the taller. Their faces, due to the quiet conversation, were closer together than usual. Realizing how intimate the scene might look to an outsider, Harry stepped away from the Slytherin. 

“What’s that?” Ron asked casually, nodding at the folded letter in Harry’s hand. 

“Nothing important,” Harry replied, slipping it into his pocket. He wasn’t entirely sure why he hid the letter from Ron straightaway - revealing to his best friend that he and Draco had been on a mini-adventure together seemed to be an occurrence Harry wanted to avoid. “How are you?” 

“I’m fine,” Ron said. He stared at Draco a bit confusedly, and the Slytherin shifted uncomfortably. “Mum says we’re leaving for the station in about an hour. You packed yet?” He asked, addressing Harry.

“Nearly, just grabbing a few things,” Harry said, holding up his scarf.

“I’m not packed,” Draco mumbled, and he abruptly left the room, heading back upstairs. 

The two best friends remained in the kitchen, Harry awkwardly bundling up his scarf and Ron standing with his hands in his pockets.

“Harry, is something…Going on between you and Malfoy?” Ron said slowly.

“Going on? What do you mean? We’re just friends.” Harry swallowed nervously. _Yeah, right, “just friends,”_ He scoffed inwardly. _“Just friends” don’t often have their tongues in each other’s mouths._

“Yeah, I know,” Ron shrugged, “But it’s a bit weird that you both are getting on so well so fast.”

“It’s been months since we started trying to be friends.”

“Yeah, I know,” The other Gryffindor repeated, “But you were enemies for _years_ , mate. Years and years of ‘Malfoy’s a slimy git’, ‘Malfoy’s an entitled arse,’ Malfoy this, Malfoy that. That kind of stuff doesn’t just go away.”

“There’s a thin line between friendship and hate,” Harry said lamely, but it sounded like making excuses even to him. 

“The line’s supposed to be between love and hate. But yeah, close enough…”

“What about you? Aren’t you getting along with Malfoy?” 

“More or less...To be honest, I only put up with him to humor you.” That surprised Harry a bit, but he supposed it was fair. “Also, there’s another thing that’s weird about all this - he’s a lot nicer now than he used to be, especially when you’re around. Haven’t you noticed?” 

Overlooking a couple of romantic liaisons, Harry didn’t notice much of a difference. When they were alone together, Draco let his guard down and show his emotions more. But on the surface, he seemed to be the exact same sardonic, snarky, and pragmatic boy he’d always been. 

“Er…not really.” 

Ron’s face held a strange mixture of confusion and disappointment. “Well, keep a lookout for it. Hey, that somehow reminds me,” He said suddenly, brightening, “Quidditch will be starting up again soon. I think as long as you hammer Hufflepuff and they don’t lose too badly to Slytherin, you’ll be real shoo-ins for the Cup.”

“Miss being Keeper, do you?” Harry grinned, relaxing at the familiar conversational territory. 

“Sometimes,” Ron admitted, “Though the new one’s a real firecracker.”

“Yeah, Quinn’s very talented. Actually, she’s a decent Beater, too, Ginny’s convinced her to try out the position a few times in practice…”

They continued along in this vein up until it was time to leave the Burrow. Four students sported their Weasley-knitted sweaters - Draco, strangely tolerant of the cold, carried his - as they waved goodbye to Molly and Apparated to King’s Cross, meeting Luna on the platform. They spent the journey in friendly conversation, but a tense atmosphere lingered in their compartment. With every out of place shake of the train, they flinched and watched the windows for anything amiss. 

Even when they arrived safely at Hogwarts castle, Harry took one last look over his shoulder. The carved wolf mask loomed in his mind, and he couldn’t help but wonder where the owner had gone. Irrational though it seemed, Harry still couldn’t shake the feeling that the unknown eyes that had peered through the mask were watching his every move… 

• • •

At the beginning of the new term, the inhabitants of Hogwarts stayed in bed for as long as they possibly could, their sleep schedules not yet adjusted from the activity-filled nights and late mornings of the holidays. As dawn broke rosily over the snow-covered hills, the corridors sheltered only a few early risers and professors preparing for the day. Down one of the castle’s many hallways strode two eighth years, black school robes flapping in their wake. 

“Do you know the password?” Draco asked as they rounded a corner; the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the headmaster’s office came into view. 

“I’m going to guess old ones and hope for the best,” Harry said truthfully, “And if they don’t work, we’ll check the dining hall.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Brilliant plan.” 

“What, you’ve got a better idea?” But judging by the Slytherin’s silence, he hadn’t, and they soon found themselves standing in front of the resolutely protective gargoyle.

“Cockroach clusters,” Harry tried, “Licorice snaps, chocolate frog…”

“Cauldron cakes,” Draco said, catching on, “Peppermint imps, exploding bonbons…”

“Lemon drop?” Harry guessed hopefully, but the statue did not budge. Though he could have sworn, its expression became slightly more mocking than before. “Damn. I thought that one might-”

“Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy,” Came a stern voice behind them, “Why on earth are you two shouting candy names at the guardian of my office?” 

Standing firmly behind them, in velvety robes of forest green and a pointed black hat placed with perfect symmetry, was Professor McGonagall. 

“Er…Sorry, Professor. I thought one might be the password. We wanted to talk to you as soon as possible,” Harry explained.

“Apparently so. Well then,” McGonagall walked up to the gargoyle and said, “Peruvian Vipertooth.” The stone figure jumped aside immediately, revealing the curved stone staircase up to the head office. With a purposeful swish of robes, she walked up the stairs, her students following close behind. 

The headmistress’s office hadn’t changed a great deal since Albus Dumbledore resided there. Many of the same silver instruments and magical gadgets stood on their appointed tables, with a few different ones added here and there. It warmed Harry slightly to see that Fawkes’s perch hadn’t been removed, though the phoenix itself had yet to make a reappearance at Hogwarts. In the corner, peculiarly, stood a cat’s litterbox. The various portraits of past headmasters lined the back wall, the majority of them asleep. Harry felt a rush of melancholy as he spotted Dumbledore slumbering in his frame, right next to a picture of Severus Snape, whose face was frowning even in sleep. 

“Now,” McGonagall said as she stood behind her desk, “What important thing do you wish to tell me?” 

Draco, hanging back, told Harry with his eyes to speak. “Professor, how strong are your ties to the Ministry?” The Gryffindor questioned.

Professor McGonagall arched her eyebrow. “Stronger than most non-Ministry individuals in Britain, I’d wager. Why do you ask?” 

“You’ve heard of the attack on the Hogwarts train in December, then?” 

McGonagall nodded in reply, then, sensing the seriousness of the following discussion, sat down at her desk and folded her hands. 

“Stop me if I get something wrong,” Harry told Draco. “During the holidays, Draco received a letter from Narcissa Malfoy…”

Trusting Professor McGonagall to keep any sensitive information secret, Harry didn’t hold back in accounting what they had found at Malfoy Manor, as well as the contents and likely illegality of Narcissa’s letter. Throughout the story, the headmistress’s face went through a gradual metamorphosis of expressions, from disapproving, to shocked, to worried, and finally to resolved. 

“I appreciate your trust in me to keep this confidential, Potter,” She said once Harry had finished. “And rest assured, I will. But why tell me all this?”

“We have a favor to ask.” 

“ _I_ have a favor to ask,” Draco cut in, and two pairs of eyes fell upon him immediately. “I want to see my parents,” He said firmly, “But I’m not even supposed to know where they are. I was hoping you’d be able to pull some strings and allow me to visit them. Before they’re… imprisoned in Azkaban.” His voice broke ever so slightly, and he looked at the ceiling.

McGonagall regarded Draco as if seeing him in a new light; he may have been a former Death Eater, but right now, he was a student in need of assistance. And help would always be given at Hogwarts to those who asked for it. 

“Rest assured, Malfoy,” She said to him. “I will find out as soon as possible if you can see them. Consider the matter out of your hands for now.” 

Surprised, but nevertheless relieved, Draco respectfully inclined his head. “Thank you, Professor.” 

[Author’s Note: The original amount of total House points needed for a mysterious “grand prize,” as McGonagall specified in chapter 4, was 500,000. Upon closer calculation I realized that was way too freaking much. Please disregard that detail and change it to 4,000 points total.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter than usual, but it's a transition chapter, after all. I kinda love writing letters though, it's like changing voices for a bit.


	24. Smoke

On Wednesday, marble-sized bits of ice pounded the castle’s windows; the sharp noise caused many teachers to cast Muffling Spells in their classrooms. The strangely inclement weather kept everyone fixedly indoors, and if the students did have to venture outside briefly, they used their heavy textbooks to shield their heads from the pelting hail. 

The icy storm did not abate until late afternoon when the eighth years had their last class together. Only then did the clouds cease their violent attacks and swap the ice for innocently soft snow. 

“I’ve never seen hail in this part of the country before,” Hermione said worriedly as she and her friends made their way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. “What if it hails again during your match, Harry?” 

But seeing as the Gryffindor v. Hufflepuff match was in mid-March, Harry wasn’t all that concerned. “It’ll probably be too warm for it then.” 

“They might just cancel the match if that happens,” Ron pointed out, “Since no one will even come to watch it…” He broke off as they entered the classroom. 

Professor Dahlia had cleared the space just as she had done for the boggart, stacking the desks against the wall. But this time, there was no cabinet, only empty polished wood floor. The thirteen students shuffled in apprehensively, dropping their schoolbags by the wall. The professor herself hadn’t yet arrived, which no one considered odd; Professor Dahlia was the tardiest of all the Hogwarts teachers, but none of her students complained much about the classes being shortened by a few minutes. 

Harry edged over to Draco, standing by himself as usual. “Hey,” Harry greeted casually, “This looks fun.” 

“What does?” 

“We’re probably starting our dueling unit, by the looks of it,” Harry said, and the rest of the class seemed to be coming to the same conclusion, starting to drift off into pairs. 

Just then, the door flew open, revealing Professor Dahlia, whose short black hair was dripping wet. Beneath her black robes, the jeans and T-shirt she was wearing seemed to be damp as well, but she strode to the front of the classroom as if nothing was out of the ordinary. 

“Bit of a hitch in the Owlery,” She explained vaguely. “But never mind that. We’re dueling!” The former Auror grinned somewhat manically. “I’ve been looking forward to teaching this all year.” 

“Do you want to be partners?” Harry asked Draco, but before the Slytherin could reply, the professor raised her voice over the excited class. 

“I’m going to be choosing the partners for now,” Dahlia said, “As you all seemed to have settled into a partner picking pattern.” She let out a solitary laugh at her accidental alliteration before continuing. “Let’s see…Anaya and Gavin, Seamus and Parvati, Dean and Henrietta, Hermione and Pansy…” Harry saw Pansy roll her eyes dramatically, but she obediently walked over to Hermione, who looked queasy - “Draco and Padma, Harry and Ron. Owen, you lucky fella, you can help me with the demonstrations,” She said jauntily, and the curly-haired Hufflepuff swallowed apprehensively. 

Draco muttered a quick, “See you,” and Harry walked over to Ron, grinning. 

“Just like old times,” Ron chuckled, recalling their sparring days in Dumbledore’s Army. 

“Alright, make sure you’re ten steps away from your partner,” Dahlia instructed. “For the next couple of days, I’ll be teaching you spells that change your opponent’s spatial and temporal perceptions to disadvantage them. These particular hexes are pretty benign, as hexes go, but they’re relatively obscure and hard to perform, so you can bet that outside of a classroom setting, your opponent won’t be expecting them. The first one we’ll try is called the Deceleration Hex. Say the incantation without wands first: _mora motus_. And repeat.”

“ _Mora motus_ ,” The class chorused. 

“Sweet. Okay, take a look, everyone,” Professor Dahlia pointed her wand at Owen, who raised his own weapon defensively. “Owen, I want you to Stun me. Go on, right now.” 

The Hufflepuff took a breath to say the incantation. Quick as a flash, Dahlia intoned clearly, “ _Mora motus_ ,” while simultaneously drawing her wand back. Owen suddenly appeared to be moving in slow motion; the whole class could see his wand raise as if going through molasses. 

The professor, still intensely pulling back her wand with laser-like focus, called out, “Anyone who’s behind me, get out of the way now!” The students immediately parted behind her, and Dahlia swiftly dodged the spell’s oncoming pathway; Owen’s mouth had already begun to form the words. As she lowered her weapon, the Hufflepuff began to move regularly again. 

“… _pefy!_ ” He shouted, and the Stunning Spell promptly ricocheted off the stone wall on the other side of the classroom. The whole class ducked on instinct except for Owen, who was bewildered from having his time perception change; anticipating this, Professor Dahlia neutralized the spell with a quick Shielding Charm. 

Many of the students immediately burst into applause. “That was so cool, Professor!” Parvati cried in awe. Even Anaya Rosier, a Slytherin who regularly wore a permanent scowl, looked impressed.

“Remember, it’ll only get easier and easier with practice,” Dahlia said with a grin. “It might look simple, but there’s a lot of concentration that goes into it. Take turns trying it on your partner, but don’t use any other spells for now.”

Harry faced Ron and held his wand at the ready. “You can go first.” 

Ron nodded. “ _Mora motus_ ,” He said, jerking his wand back a bit abruptly. Harry lifted his arm to see if the spell worked, but he was able to move at a normal pace. “Oh…Well, you next.” 

After a dozen or so back-and-forths, Harry and Ron began to get the hang of the hex. Harry found that, by changing the speed of his wand movement, it subtly changed Ron’s speed as well. 

“Nice one, Parvati…” Professor Dahlia said as she looked about the room, “Seamus, keep your wand more horizontal…Hermione, that’s great work, see if you can do it wordlessly now…”

Before long, the whole class had more or less mastered the hex, though only Hermione and Draco had managed to perform the spell without speaking aloud. “Okay, I think we have time to try another one,” Professor Dahlia said, “We’ll switch partners now - Hermione, come over with me…” She continued, pairing Harry and Draco together, and the two friends made their way over to each other. 

Draco smirked as he twirled his wand between his pale fingers. “Can’t seem to get the hang of those nonverbal spells, eh, Potter?” 

“Put a sock in it, Malfoy,” Harry replied amiably. 

“The next spell we’ll be trying is relatively modern and doesn’t have an official name yet,” Professor Dahlia told them. “Basically, it will change your opponent’s spatial perspectives to throw them off balance. Quite effective in my experience but physically harmless. Unless you battle near a cliff with a sheer drop-off, of course,” She added mysteriously, as if she had been in that situation before. “Anyway, the incantation is _locus alteratio_. The wand movement doesn’t matter too much, but I find flicking works the best. Say it without wands first.” 

“ _Locus alteratio_.”

“And now, try it on your partner.” 

Draco raised his wand before Harry did. “ _Locus alteratio_ ,” He said, pointing his wand in the Gryffindor’s direction. 

In that same instant, Harry found himself standing directly in front of Draco instead of ten feet away from him. The floor seemed to tilt slightly beneath his feet and took several clumsy steps backward. 

“Watch it, Potter,” Draco said warningly, but his voice seemed to be coming from Harry’s right. Suddenly, he bumped into something soft and human-shaped; Harry reached behind him to gauge his surroundings, feeling increasingly confused. “You’re grabbing my face,” Draco grumbled, and the spell fell away. Harry discovered that his back was pressed up against Draco and was so startled that he jumped away - only the clasp of Draco’s cloak seemed to have caught on the edge of Harry’s robes. Tangled and bewildered, Harry fell to the ground, the Slytherin landing unceremoniously on top of him.

“Oh - er, sorry…” 

“The fabric’s stuck to me,” Draco said irritably. As he reached to detach himself, his hand accidentally brushed Harry’s neck, and all of a sudden, Harry realized that the Slytherin’s body was indecently close to his - he could feel the heat coming from him through the layers of their uniforms. Draco seemed to have realized their proximity as well; he bit his lip subconsciously, then remembered that they were in a crowded classroom and immediately rolled away, stood up quickly, and adjusted his robes. 

Thankfully, the rest of the class was experiencing similar hex-related accidents and didn’t notice their blunder. Harry still sat on the ground, a little breathless from the momentary contact. 

“Come on, up you get,” Draco sighed, holding out his hand for Harry to take. Harry clasped Draco’s forearm and stood up as well, secretly pleased to see that Draco’s face had taken on a pink tinge. 

“The hex worked really well,” Harry offered. 

“Obviously. It seems so impractical, though,” Draco mused. “Perhaps we’re going about it wrong. You try it.” 

But before Harry could utter the incantation, the Hogwarts bell let out three, sonorous gongs. “Ah, shoot,” Dahlia sighed. “Misjudged the timing again. Everyone, I practice these hexes with your friends, all right? And I don’t mean just a couple times after class. I want to see improvement on Friday! Class dismissed.”

• • •

At the end of their first week back, the eighth years found themselves with plenty of homework to complete; in addition to a Potions essay and a Herbology packet, the first part of their end-of-year paper was due that Monday. Without a Hogsmeade visit, Quidditch practice or match to distract them, Hermione declared that Saturday a study day, and dragged both Harry and Ron to the library. 

Harry immersed himself in volumes about the Unforgiveable Curses, which was no small feat since those particular titles were weighty tomes at least six inches thick. Armed with a signed note from Professor Dahlia, he checked out so many Dark Arts books from the Restricted Section that Madam Pince kept shooting him suspicious glares over the edges of her glasses. 

“I’m done,” Harry sighed three hours later. In front of him, covered in scrawls and multiple crossing-outs, a long piece of parchment held his completed outline and introduction paragraphs. 

“Hand me the green one,” Ron requested, and Harry obligingly slid over _Dark Objects and How to Spot Them._ “Thanks.” Ron kept his head bent as he flipped to the table of contents. He seemed to be more focused than usual on his studies - though Harry suspected that studious tendency came along with Hermione being his girlfriend.

“Aren’t you going to do Potions?” Hermione asked, looking up from her parchment as Harry pushed back his chair. 

“Yeah, but I need a break,” Harry replied; his neck ached from reading all those books. “I’m going to take a walk.” 

He emerged from the musty, stale air of the library to the cold halls of the castle, footsteps echoing on the flagstones. Most students were either studying or outside enjoying the few sunny days that January provided, so the corridors stood empty. Harry decided to stretch his legs for a few minutes before heading back.

“Potter!” 

The familiar voice pierced the quiet like a sword through ice. Draco, who seemed to be in a rush, came up to Harry, looking more animated than usual. A clinking sound came from his school bag, which hung heavily across one shoulder. 

“I want to show you something,” Draco said, a little out of breath. “And possibly ask a favor.” 

“Now? Sure, but-”

“Come with me.” Before Harry could say anything more, Draco turned abruptly and strode purposefully down the hallway. Harry teetered on the edge of hesitation for a moment before resolving to follow him. 

After passing particular paintings and ascending multiple flights of stairs, Harry began to recognize the route they were taking. 

“Malfoy, are we going to the Room of Requirement?” 

“Yes, what about it?”

“Wasn’t it…” Harry shuddered involuntarily at the memory of that nightmarish night. Enchanted fiery beasts devouring forgotten objects and taking the life of their foolish caster. “Destroyed?”

“Nearly.” A shadow passed over Draco’s face; he remembered it, too. “But I kept trying to get it working a few times throughout the year, and it seems to have repaired itself.” They came to an empty wall in which the Room of Requirement was hidden, and Draco closed his eyes, walking briskly back and forth three times. With a subtle rumble of shifting bricks, the heavy wooden door to the hidden chamber slid into view. 

Ever since Harry used the Room of Requirement for Dumbledore’s Army, he had seen it take various forms, each suited ideally to its requested purpose. The magic of the room had obviously not failed Draco. The antechamber appeared to be a potions workshop; a stone counter was piled with shiny cauldrons and laid out with an assortment of tools like knives, mortars, and droppers. Into the table, a stovetop was set, upon which a small pewter cauldron sat, steam rising in sulfuric clouds from its surface. 

“What’s that?” Harry asked, covering his mouth with his sleeve. The rotten-egg scent of sulfur made his stomach do flip-flops.

“Come see,” Draco replied, looping on a white facemask that stood by his workstation. Another one suddenly appeared by the cauldron, and he handed it to Harry. 

Now able to breathe normally without feeling sick, Harry leaned over the cauldron to peer inside. Simmering within a thin, yellowish solution, small pinkish leaves floated, spinning and swimming in the heat. 

Harry gave a start when he recognized the plant. “Is that…?”

“Dragon’s Tongue,” Draco confirmed, his silver eyes shining almost manically. “Nearly killed myself trying to deactivate their explosive powers, but I finally figured it out.” He reached over to his satchel and pulled out a large glass jar of murky, thick, gray liquid. He grabbed another cauldron with one hand and turned off the stove with the other, then poured the more viscous liquid inside, making sure to scoop out every last bit with a small spatula. With a tool that looked like a cross between tweezers and tongs, Draco carefully moved the dozen-or-so leaves of Dragon’s Tongue one by one to the new mixture, where they dissolved. 

Harry watched him work with fascination. Draco didn’t look up once, his pale hands fluttering over the potions with intense precision. He stirred the mixture slowly, which rapidly changed from dark gray to a forest green. 

“Corked vial,” Draco said, holding out his hand. Unsure whether he was addressing him directly, Harry looked around for a vial, and one materialized on the counter. But before he could take it, the container flew into Draco’s outstretched hand, and the Slytherin uncorked it as if nothing had happened. 

“Did you use your wand for that?” Harry asked, his eyes widening in surprise. 

“For what?” Draco dipped the vial into the potion and filled it nearly to the top. “Oh, that. No. It’s not all my magic, though.” He jerked his head vaguely to the ceiling, apparently referring to the enchanted room itself. “All right. Here goes nothing.” Corking the vial once more, he shook the potion violently. The liquid transformed immediately, expanding slightly and its shade shifting to an iridescent, rosy orange. “Perfect.” Draco took off his facemask, Harry following suit, and the Slytherin held the potion to the light. He cleared both cauldrons with a wave of his wand and a muttered incantation. “So, Potter. How do you feel about a ninety percent chance of not getting blown to pieces?” 

Harry blinked at him. “What?” 

Draco smirked, carefully uncorking the vial again. A thin stream of golden smoke issued from the opening. “That was a joke. Even if it doesn’t work, the chances of you dying are slim.” 

“I don’t understand what you’re asking me to do.” 

“A targeted, purely magical explosion,” Draco murmured to himself. “It’s never been done before, and barely attempted. If this works, it’ll make history.” 

“Malfoy, what’s this potion for?” Harry asked, raising his voice. 

Draco held out the vial to him. “At this volume, throwing this will cause a medium-sized explosion. But if I did my calculations right, you should be completely unhurt. Don’t worry; I’ve tried it before, and it worked for me. I just need to be sure that the effects transfer to someone other than the maker.” 

Harry nodded slowly. “Fine. I’ll try it.”

“Excellent. Now spit in it.” 

Harry narrowed his eyes in confusion, but Draco’s expression was solemn. “All right…” Feeling a little foolish, Harry bent forward and gathered saliva in his mouth, dripping a bit of it into the vial. 

Draco swirled the potion, whose shade began to change, and sealed it tightly. “Go stand over there.”

“Over where? Oh.” In the direction Draco pointed, a vast, high-ceilinged room swelled into existence. The floor and walls were made of stone, like the rest of the castle, but steel ribbed the ceiling to offer extra support. 

Harry slipped off his outer robes and dropped them on the ground next to his schoolbag. He walked into the other room, voluntarily placing himself in danger’s path - though, of course, that was nothing new.

“Ready?” Draco took a few cautionary steps backward and poised his arm to throw. 

“Ready.” 

The vial flew, crystalline and golden, through the air. Harry saw and heard it land for a split second, then the glass shattered. 

Fire and smoke slashed the air with the concentrated force of a hurricane. Harry threw up his arms on instinct to shield himself from the explosion. The cacophony of rocky debris flying through the air and clattering to the ground echoed through the giant chamber. Harry’s body tensed, fully expecting to be hit with quickly moving rubble, but the air around him remained strangely undisturbed. 

A haze of smoke and dust filled the air once the explosion had settled. Harry uncurled from his protective position, shoes crunching on the smaller pieces of wreckage. The antechamber of the Room of Requirement was hidden from view, and Harry squinted through the ashy air. 

“Malfoy?” He called, his voice no longer echoing through the room. “Malfoy, are you okay?” In the few moments of silence that followed, Harry’s heart jumped into his throat. 

Then, rising from the wreckage like a ghost, Draco coughed and waved the smoke away. His shoulders and hair were grey with silt. 

“I’m fine,” Draco said, clearing his throat. He stepped through the rubble, lifting the hem of his robes off the ground so as not to trip. Once he was close enough to see Harry clearly, he gasped. “Potter, look at yourself!”

Harry examined his own uniform and gaped at its spotlessness. He ran a hand through his untidy black hair, but the palm came back clean. No pebbles, no ashes…nothing. 

“Let me see,” Draco spun Harry in a circle by his shoulders, then lifted his arms and patted his torso, rigorously examining him for any sign of damage. It was a strange sensation to have Draco’s hands all over him, but Harry managed to avoid feeling too abashed, reminding himself that the contact was for scientific purposes only. “Nothing.” Draco’s face split into a wide grin. “It worked! You’re perfectly fine, right? Nothing hurts?” 

Harry shook his head, a bit astonished at that fact himself. He’d never heard of such a precise, damage-inducing spell, let alone potion. And the fact that the invention had come from a student with only secondary education was frankly… “Impressive,” Harry said appreciatively, “That’s really great magic, Draco, I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

Draco’s silver eyes shone with pride and excitement. Then, caught up in the euphoria of his success, he suddenly took Harry into his arms. “Thanks a lot for helping,” He said breathlessly. 

“Oh…” Harry readily accepted the hug, his head naturally nestling in the crook of Draco’s neck. “Erm…I didn’t do much. But you’re welcome.” 

The Slytherin pulled back a little, and it was then that Harry noticed the thin gash shining redly on his pale skin. “Malfoy, you’re hurt,” Harry murmured, his hand drifting to Draco’s face. He thought he heard Draco’s breath hitch as his thumb brushed his cheek - though perhaps that was just his imagination. 

“Guess a rock hit me,” Draco wrinkled his nose, “I hope it doesn’t scar.” 

“You’d look pretty with or without a scar,” Harry commented, then blushed as he realized what he said.

Draco tilted his head curiously. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Well…” Harry broke off into incoherent mumblings, ending with, “Yes.”

Draco fought back a grin, though Harry could see the satisfaction in his silvery eyes. Then, with one hand, he gently tilted Harry’s chin up and closed the distance. 

Draco’s lips, slightly chapped, tasted like smoke. The kiss was sweet but brief, and as soon as they broke apart, Harry wanted more. But then a question popped into his head, and it spilled out of his mouth in a rushed, tangled hurry. 

“D’youwannagooutwithme?” 

The Slytherin bit his lip in amusement. “Pardon?” 

“Erm…” _He just kissed you!_ Harry shouted internally. _He obviously likes you, what are you afraid of?_ “Would you want to…go out with me sometime?”

Discomfort clouded Draco’s eyes. “On a date? In public?” 

“Not in front of other people,” Harry said quickly. “I know you’re not out yet - I’m not out either - but I just…I like spending time with you.” 

It was hard to read Draco’s expression for the next few moments. Harry felt fourteen again, quivering in front of Cho Chang’s confused stare as he asked her to the Yule Ball. 

“I like spending time with you, too,” Draco said finally. “But…to be honest, Potter, I’m scared. Of what will happen if we act like this out there.” Outside the bubble of their aloneness, where people would see them as oddities. “I’m scared of what people will say, what they’ll do, not just to me, but to you as well. You don’t know,” His voice shook slightly, “How deep a person’s prejudice goes. Against non-purebloods and people even remotely related to Death Eater families. There’s prejudice against people like us, too.” 

Hatred pressing in from all directions. Harry had seen it from the outside, had seen how it could tear families and friends apart. But still…he wanted to take the leap. He wanted to risk it. 

“I’m not ready to go public with anything,” Draco said, and he took Harry’s hand. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be with you.” 

_With you._ It felt like a thousand hummingbirds lived in Harry’s chest. 

“In other words, yes. I’ll go out with you.” 

“Oh! Um, cool. I’m looking forward to it,” Harry said, and judging from the way Draco finally allowed himself to smile, he was too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of my favorite chapters to write and edit. I love writing scenes with Dahlia's class, and scenes that showcase Draco's potions abilities. The books didn't really talk about it much, but I believe he's got a real talent for it.


	25. Something Precious

A pearly-gray blanket of clouds floated through the sky, pushed along by a lazy breeze. Sunlight peeked hesitantly through the gaps, falling upon the glittering snow that turned to slush where many students had walked through it. Spring was a long time coming, but red cardinals, blue jays, and brown sparrows soared and sang anyway. 

The mild weather had coaxed most students outside - they hung out in tightly-knit groups within the main grounds, a few venturing to the shores of the Black Lake despite the cold air wafting off it.

The Quidditch pitch, however, remained nearly untouched. Its towering vastness was slippery with the earlier morning’s mist, wind whistling through its multiple nooks and crannies. 

Harry lay down on the bleachers, one leg propped up on a bench. His emerald eyes took in the pale void above, his mind drifting through the emptiness and the silence. 

“You’re early.” Draco’s voice accompanied his footsteps on the creaking, wooden bleachers. Harry sat up as the Slytherin made his way over, his short blonde hair fluttering in the wind.

“Is that surprising?”

Draco didn’t answer, sliding his hands into his pockets and looking towards the top of the arena. “Let’s move up there,” He suggested, and began to move up the bleachers without waiting for a reply; nevertheless, Harry followed. 

The grounds of Hogwarts unfurled beneath them like a richly patterned quilt, lush with grasses and hills and the slate-gray, shining massiveness of the Black Lake. Shades ranging from white to patchy brown signaled snowy spots left over from bygone storms. Ebony steeds, rising in miniature with leathery flaps, came from their dark, arboreal habitat. The thestrals screeched and swirled in the wintry firmament. And just beyond loomed the castle, prickly and stern with its towers and staring windows. 

“This is a nicer date than I expected, Potter,” Draco said as his gazed roved across the landscape. “I’m impressed.” 

“Really? I wasn’t sure if just ‘hanging out’ was your thing.” Harry propped his arms upon the fence bordering the arena. “I’ve always reckoned you to be - you know. The fancy dinner date type.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but his frustration wasn’t directed at his friend. “I’ve had too many of those, to be honest. I…do you mind if I ramble a bit?” 

“Go on.” 

“My parents set me up more times than I care to remember. Only rich pureblooded girls, of course.” Draco’s tone was tinged with bitterness. “We’d go to fancy restaurants like you said, or operas, the theater, typical elitist nonsense. The girls themselves weren’t all bad, I suppose. You know Henrietta Carrow, in our year,” He assumed, and Harry nodded, picturing the pale, freckled Slytherin, “We went out a couple of times in third year, she was all right. Didn’t go on and on like a lot of the others did about the importance of blood. Merlin, they were all obsessed with blood, keeping magic in the old families, and using it to attain money and status.” Draco’s grey eyes were stormy, and Harry was beginning to regret instigating the discussion. “But I’m like them, too. A pureblooded puppet.” 

“No way,” Harry said fervently. “Maybe you _used_ to be, but that’s in the past now.” 

“Just because it’s in the past doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.” 

“Hey, you’re with me now, aren’t you? On a date with a half-blood,” Harry pointed out, and Draco started to smile. 

Then he faltered. “Did you say half-blood?” 

Harry nodded. “Yeah, mostly. My mother’s parents were Muggles.” 

“I thought she was a real witch,” Draco said confusedly, then he looked startled. “Ah. Muggle-borns can be wizards, I forgot. Sorry,” He added, “Old mentality of mine. Didn’t mean to offend.” 

“It’s okay.” Harry was a little miffed at the accidental slight towards his mother, but he decided to let it slide. “Huh. I thought first date conversation was normally more lighthearted than this.” 

Draco snorted. “You think any of this is normal? Oh, please. A Death Eater and The Boy Who Lived go on a date. That sounds like the beginning of a joke.” 

Harry laughed. “It does, actually.” 

“So, what do you think we should talk about instead?” 

“Quidditch?” 

“Ah, yes,” Draco turned to face Harry and leaned casually on the fence. “Quidditch, and how Slytherin’s going to make a comeback and win the Cup.” 

“I dunno about that. We’ve practically won already.”

“Don’t be so sure, Potter. Slytherin has pulled off an upset before, we can do it again.” 

Harry had never felt this at ease with Draco before - all his nervousness and stress evaporated as they chatted away as any two good friends would. It seemed that Draco felt similarly; Harry was pleased to see that he had started laughing and smiling more around him. 

_Ron’s right_ , Harry realized, _About Draco being nicer than before_. 

Warmth bloomed in the late afternoon when they made their way back to the castle, walking comfortably in tandem. As luminous beams broke through the cloud cover, Draco’s face became bathed in gold, and in the back of his mind, Harry noticed how pretty he looked in the sunlight. Harry’s quick heartbeat echoed the earnest steps of a new journey, a new adventure - only this time, the Chosen One was not afraid of what would come next. 

• • •

It had been almost three weeks since Harry’s and Draco’s first date, and Harry was pleasantly surprised at how well things had been going since then. It was his first new relationship in a while - and the first one he’d had with a boy. But it was easier, in some ways, than Harry’s relationship with Ginny, mostly because the threat of Voldemort no longer loomed in his future. Finally, after five years of being one, he could behave like a normal teenage boy. 

Even better, Draco had more or less become part of Harry’s tightly-knit friend group. He wasn’t around all the time, which tended to make the others antsy, but Harry was infinitely grateful towards Ron and Hermione for accepting him. 

The four students sat together in the library one day after school, immersed in their various assignments. Hermione was hard at work on her end-of-year paper, Ron filled out a Herbology worksheet, and both Harry and Draco read their assigned chapters for Potions. 

“Ooh, look at you studious eighth-years,” Came Ginny’s teasing voice; she and Luna took seats next to Hermione. 

“Hi, Ginny,” The brunette greeted, glancing up from her notes. “Don’t tell me you didn’t come in here just to talk to us?” 

“No, we do have a lot of work to do,” Ginny sighed, taking out textbooks from her school bag. 

“ _You_ have a lot of work to do,” Luna corrected. “Procrastinator,” She added as a term of endearment. 

“I only procrastinate because I know you’ll help me,” Ginny replied, dramatically batting her eyelashes. 

“Of course, I will.” 

Harry bit down a smile at their interactions, which were nearly as adorable as Ron’s and Hermione’s. He wondered how he didn’t notice Luna and Ginny were dating before; now that he knew, it seemed obvious. 

The six companions studied for the better part of an hour, the comfortable silence often punctuated by idle conversation and requests for homework-related advice. Draco finished his Potions reading much faster than Harry did, unsurprisingly. The Slytherin closed his book with a bit too much force, the subsequent puff of air blowing his quill off the table. 

Harry, on reflex, bent to pick it up from the floor. 

“It’s fine, I got it,” Draco muttered quickly, leaning down and grabbing the quill. Their fingers brushed, and the butterflies in Harry’s stomach started swooping. His expression must have given something away, for Draco smirked knowingly for the briefest moment before sitting up again. 

Heat creeping up in his cheeks, Harry gave the four students on the other side of the table a cautious glance, but they appeared to be too busy to notice what had happened. 

Draco, his face impassive, began to write with his right hand. His left, slowly and surreptitiously, reached over and took Harry’s. The Gryffindor, startled, made an immense effort to keep his eyes firmly on his Potions textbook as Draco interlaced their fingers. He caressed the back of Harry’s hand with his thumb, in slow, gentle strokes. 

It took a few minutes for Harry to realize that he’d been re-reading the same sentence without taking in any information at all. Draco, however, casually continued to work, his quill looping confidently across the parchment. 

Harry thought it completely unlike Draco to perform such a sweet, understated gesture. But as the Gryffindor would slowly discover, his companion had only just begun to surprise him.

• • •

“Are you sure about this?” 

One Saturday afternoon, it became clear that the worst of winter had passed. Sunlight glittered warmly off the Black Lake, whose surface was now completely melted. Ginny sat cross-legged on the grass, throwing pieces of toast to the orange-crimson tentacles of the giant squid. 

“Positive,” The redhead replied, turning towards Harry. “I don’t want to hide anymore. Neither of us does.” 

“How’re you feeling?” 

“Excited, actually. But scared, too. I don’t know how everyone’s going to react. What do you think? Would Ron mind?” 

Harry shook his head. “I mean, you’re his sister, and he loves you. As long as Luna makes you happy, it shouldn’t matter to him whether she’s a girl or not.” 

Ginny nodded slowly. “That makes sense.” 

“Are you two going to come out to the school?” 

Ginny put down her toast and wiped the crumbs off on her robes. “We’ve talked about it a lot, and we decided not to make a big fuss. After telling Ron and Hermione, we’ll just start holding hands in public more, kissing when a straight couple would be expected to kiss. If we act like everything’s normal, maybe everyone else will, too.” She gave him a shaky yet hopeful smile. “We might have stayed in the dark forever if it wasn’t for you.” 

“I outed you without your blessing,” Harry said guiltily. “I’m sorry.” 

Ginny shrugged and gave him a friendly nudge with her shoulder. “All’s well that ends well. It turned out for the better, anyway.” 

“Yeah, but …it’s not over yet.”

A blue-scarfed girl poked her head between the two friends, startling them both. “Hello, Harry,” Luna said, briefly placing an affectionate hand on his shoulder. “Ginny’s telling you about our plan, I expect?” 

“Yeah,” Harry replied, scooting over to let the Ravenclaw sit between them. “It’s quite brave of you, really. I hope everything turns out well.” 

“Thanks. I hope so, too,” Luna reached over and took Ginny’s hand as if it was the most normal thing in the world. If Harry had seen them do that three months ago, he might have felt a stab of jealousy - but now, he was just glad that Ginny was happy. “And you, Harry?” Luna’s pale eyes looked towards him with luminous curiosity. 

“What about me?” 

Luna lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Are you and Draco going to come out, too?” 

The breeze coming from the lake seemed to stop in its tracks. “What are you talking about?” Ginny said, utterly perplexed. 

_How does she know?_ Harry thought wildly. His palms became sweaty all of a sudden. 

“Ah, I completely forgot to mention it to you, petal,” Luna said apologetically. “Harry and Draco have been dating for a little while. I realized it just a few days ago.” 

“They what?” Ginny’s eyes widened. “Harry…is that true?” 

His heart was beating desperately fast. No. This wasn’t supposed to happen; no one was supposed to know. _I’m scared of what people will say, what they’ll do, not just to me, but to you as well,_ Draco had said, fear glimmering in his eyes. 

“I…” Harry quailed under Ginny’s stare, which was growing more outraged by the minute. He nodded. 

Ginny let out a short, derisive laugh. “Are you serious? _Malfoy_?” 

“You’re not judging him for dating a boy, are you?” Luna said, tilting her head. 

“Oh, Luna. That’s not the issue here!” Ginny crossed her arms. 

“What, you don’t think he’s good enough for me?” Harry said defensively. 

“Well…” Ginny exhaled sharply, apparently struggling to reach an agreement with herself. “If you’d asked me that a year ago, I’d say definitely not. But he _has_ changed, I guess…” She shook her head, frustratedly. “But still. He was a Death Eater!” 

“The heart wants what it wants,” Luna murmured, staring across the lake. 

“I just find it hard to believe…” Ginny trailed off, too vexed to finish her sentence. 

“What? That I could love someone like him?” 

“You _love_ him?” 

“I…no, I don’t,” Harry said, a little embarrassed that he had phrased it that way. “But I like him. What about you two? I thought Malfoy’s your friend as well?” 

“It’s more complicated than that,” Luna said soothingly. “Personally, I think he’s quite nicer these days. And I know you think so too, you’ve told me as much earlier,” She addressed Ginny, who nodded in agreement, “But the fact remains that he was a bully. To all of us. And some of those wounds haven’t healed; they never can.” 

Harry understood. 

“But it’s like I said,” Luna continued, “The heart wants what it wants.” 

Ginny gave her a confused look. “You approve of them being together?” 

“It’s doesn’t matter whether I approve or not,” Luna said with a serene shrug. “It’s their relationship, why should I interfere?” 

Ginny gave Harry a long, scrutinizing look. “Fine. Date whoever you want.” 

Harry narrowed his eyes. “That’s the plan. And, please,” He added, “Don’t tell anyone about this.” 

Luna nodded solemnly. “I’m sorry that I brought it up,” She said sincerely. 

“It’s all right. It was bound to get out sometime.” _Though I didn’t think it’d be this soon._

“You have to tell Ron and Hermione,” Ginny said firmly. “They’re your best friends, they have a right to know.” 

“Why should they know about my love life?” 

“This is Malfoy we’re talking about,” Ginny said warningly. “They’re not going to take it well.” 

“That’s reassuring,” Harry remarked sarcastically. 

“That’s the _truth_.” Ginny stood up, slinging her school bag over her shoulder. “I’m going inside. Good luck, Harry. With everything.” She strode back towards the castle, not sparing him a second glance. 

Luna plucked at the grass. “I really am sorry, Harry,” She said again. “I didn’t know you and Draco wanted to keep it a secret.” 

“Well…I suppose we weren’t very sneaky, holding hands in the library.” 

“Oh, I didn’t see anything in the library,” Luna said earnestly. Harry gave her a bewildered look. 

“Then how’d you find out?” 

“It’s simply the way you act around each other. Nothing obvious,” She reassured him, “But you stand close to him like you’re protecting something precious. He lights up when you’re around - I’ve never seen him smile so often before. Not to mention all those times you’ve been together whenever Ron and Hermione want to be alone.” 

Harry’s face burned. “Nothing obvious” seemed like a bit of an understatement, at least when it came to Luna; he made a mental note to never again be so underestimating of her observational abilities. 

Luna seemed to be conscious of Harry’s worry, and she patted his shoulder in a heartening sort of way. “Most people around here are too thick to notice anything,” She said matter-of-factly. “At least, that’s how Ginny puts it sometimes. Your secret’s safe with us, I promise.” 

Harry nodded mutely. Her words hadn’t put his mind completely at ease, but he appreciated them all the same. And he felt certain, at least, that Luna was excellent at keeping promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was kind of a filler chapter, I'm not going to lie...But I kind of liked the simplicity and imagery bits of the scenes, it was relaxing to write.


	26. Let Go

Leaves spun gaily on the shimmering surface of the water, which filled a crystalline bowl to the brim. A couple of white blossoms, pebbles, and small twigs lay on the desk next to the bowl, petals fluttering slightly with every breath taken.

Draco picked up one of the twigs and plopped it into the water, sending a bit of it splashing over the edge. “So? What’s the plan?”

Harry thoughtfully picked up the floating twig and stirred the water. “I have no idea.”

Around the classroom, the rest of the eighth years and a group of seventh year Hufflepuffs were having similar discussions. The day’s assignment, presented cheerfully by Professor Flitwick a few minutes earlier, was starkly unique from previous activities. Normally, charms were performed with grand, precise movements to execute unmistakable changes upon objects. But today they focused on the minutia of charms magic, with a little bit of transfiguration mixed in; plus, as Flitwick was quick to point out, they had to use their imagination. Which some of students had plenty of, but Draco and Harry had only ever relied on combative, not creative, magic.

“It’d take too long to come up with a plan, anyway,” Harry remarked. “How about we take turns, spell per spell, and see what happens?”

“You mean wing it?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course, you’ll remember,” Professor Flitwick squeaked over the conversations, “To change the magnitude of the charms. Think tiny thoughts, everyone, tiny thoughts!”

Draco furrowed his brow and touched the tip of his wand to the water. He muttered something softly, and mini waves began to roll across the surface.

“ _Engorgio_ ,” Harry murmured at one of the twigs, which swelled.

“That’s too easy,” Draco chided.

“One more.” With a tap of his wand, Harry attached the slightly bigger twig to the bottom of the bowl, the miniature swells of water lapping at its base.

Slowly, a tiny landscape began to take shape in the bowl. With the other twig, the pair created spinning propellers and fashioned a small windmill that spun despite the lack of breeze in the classroom. With the pebbles, they created a rocky island that floated on the waves.

“And these?” Harry placed the white blossoms into the water.

Draco pointed his wand at one; slowly and with great difficulty, he successfully transfigured it into a living, breathing swan the size of a Knut. Harry did the same with the other blossom, and the birds trumpeted shrilly at each other, dipping their beaks in the water.

“Cool,” Harry breathed, grinning at the setting they had created. He’d never done anything like this before, and guessed Draco hadn’t either - Luna and Hermione were better at the beautiful, subtle works of magic.

“How charming!” Professor Flitwick, who was passing by, stood to his full one hundred and six centimeters to peer into their bowl. “A bit simple, but nice work, Potter and Malfoy. A point each to Gryffindor and Slytherin.” He continued walking along the rows of desks, handing out similar words of praise to the rest of the class.

“Simple!” Draco sighed dramatically, brushing one of the swans with one pale finger. “As if it’s easy to transfigure a flower into an animal.”

“You can still tell they’re made of petals, sort of,” Harry said, squinting at the enchanted birds.

“Hmph.” Draco made no further comment until Charms ended.

Once the bell rang for lunch, Flitwick instructed the class to place their pieces on a table in the center of the room. Moving their bowl slowly, so as not to spill water and send the swans tumbling over the edge, Harry and Draco were one of the last pairs to finish and exit the classroom. Spotting Hermione and Ron just ahead, Harry headed for them, Draco walking close behind.

“…Hogsmeade?” Harry heard Ron say as they drew closer. “It’ll be just the two of us.” He and Hermione held hands, which wasn’t unusual, but he spoke in a hushed, deep tone.

“This isn’t something we should interrupt,” Draco said suddenly, stopping without warning and yanking at Harry’s robes to hold him back.

“Why?” Harry replied, a little annoyed at Draco’s assault on his clothes.

“Weasley’s asking Granger out.”

“Yeah, because couples go out.”

“Not on an ordinary date, I mean,” Draco mused, watching Ron and Hermione as they moved farther and farther away. “I’m sure he’d wants to talk to her alone right now.” He started walking again, and Harry followed him.

“What makes you think it’s not an ordinary date?”

Draco gave Harry a scathing look. “Our next Hogsmeade visit is this Sunday, correct?”

“Er, yes.”

“Think, Potter. What’s happening next Sunday?”

“I don’t…” Then he remembered: Valentine’s Day. His least favorite holiday by far, and one he’d done absolutely nothing to celebrate when he was with Ginny, who disliked the overblown romanticism as well. Last year, Valentine’s had been spent traveling throughout the country, Ron, Hermione, and Harry constantly looking over their shoulders for Death Eaters and staying utterly concealed from the hundreds who hunted Undesirable No. 1. “Oh.”

“So maybe we ought to leave them to their harmless little vices then.”

“Right…” Harry expected Draco to start walking again, but the Slytherin looked Harry up and down for a few moments, as if waiting for something. “Er, anything else?”

“No.” Draco readjusted his school bag and strode away as quickly as they had stopped, leaving the shorter student hurrying to walk beside him. The Slytherin wore his usual emotionless visage, but after eight years of knowing him Harry was beginning to figure out that that expression hid busily stirring thoughts. And then it dawned on him, brightly and suddenly, why Draco had been making such a big deal about Sunday.

“I don’t suppose you and I could…go to Hogsmeade this weekend?”

Draco fought to keep a smile hidden beneath his cold demeanor; they were in a crowd of students, after all, nearing the packed dining hall. “That’s the best idea you’ve had all week, Potter.” 

“Really? You’re not worried that we’ll be seen?” Hope rose in Harry’s chest; perhaps Draco had gained more confidence about coming out since they last discussed it.

Draco pursed his lips, and glanced around at the students among them to be sure none of them were listening in. “Of course, I’m worried,” He admitted, lowering his voice, “But Valentine’s might be the best day to go to Hogsmeade. I know a lot of people will be there,” He continued, accurately reading the skeptical look on Harry’s face, “But they’ll all be wrapped up in their silly little romances to notice anything suspicious going on with us.”

Harry mock pouted. “Not all romances are silly and little.”

“Well, ours obviously isn’t, Potter,” Draco amended. He rested his hand briefly on his companion’s shoulder in a gesture of affection, and the way he spoke Harry’s surname made it sound like an endearment.

As the pair entered the dining hall, Harry spotted Ron and Hermione, who both looked a little pink in the face, at the Gryffindor table with Dean and Seamus. Hermione noticed them first and gave a friendly wave of acknowledgement.

“Sunday afternoon, then,” Harry murmured as they walked past the head of the Slytherin table. A few of the students sitting there gave him their customary glares, but he was too occupied with his thoughts to notice. Valentine’s Day with the seemingly cold-hearted, arrogant Draco Malfoy; things were bound to get interesting.

• • •

To the delight of the older Hogwarts students, the weather was absolutely gorgeous on Sunday. A light layer of snow had fallen the night before, coating the ground in feathery powder. The sun gleamed gently from above, light cloud cover shading the glare of winter’s rays. 

Despite not thinking he’d need them, Harry kept the borrowed leather gloves in his jacket pocket; they’d come to act as a token of affection from Draco, and Harry simply felt better having the garments with him. 

“Potter,” Draco said, waiting for Harry outside the Slytherin common room. He had combed his sleek blond hair in a slightly different manner today, more to the side so that a small section covered part of his face. His soft lips seemed to glisten in the torchlight, and Harry wondered if the Slytherin had actually put some sort of gloss. “Ready?”

“Yes.” As they set off down the hallway, shoulders brushing every other step, Harry ran a nervous hand through his own untidy hair, knowing full well that it would stick up all over the place anyway. 

Students from all houses had flocked to Hogsmeade that morning, unsurprisingly. But Draco had been right; couples were too busy gazing into each other’s eyes and holding hands to notice the mismatched pair. Despite the lack of attention, Draco kept his guard up, staying silent as he and Harry walked toward The Three Broomsticks out of habit.

People packed the bar and dining area, the air thick with laughter and clinking glasses. As the door swung in, letting through a chill of winter air, Madam Rosmerta shouted over the din, “Seat yourselves, please!” Relieved that Harry wouldn’t have to explain Draco’s presence to her once again, the pair wove through the tables to a tiny, inconspicuous booth near the back. 

Harry allowed himself to relax once they were seated, two mugs of butterbeer placed before them by a harried waitress. He spotted a few familiar faces in the surrounding multitude, but no one he knew well enough to spare him a second glance. According to Ron, he and Hermione would be off somewhere else - though when Harry asked him where exactly, Ron’s ears had turned red, and he mumbled something about Transfiguration homework.

“I’m surprised, I thought we’d be getting more attention,” Draco remarked as his hands wrapped around the warm mug in front of him. 

“Because I’m Harry Potter, or because we’re together?” 

“The second one, obviously,” Draco said, giving him a look. “I think everyone here is used to having a ‘celebrity’ around by now.” He punctuated the statement with ironic air quotes.

“Fair enough,” Harry smirked into his cup, secretly glad that Draco wasn’t afraid to knock him down a peg or two. “People don’t assume we’re together since we’re both blokes,” He pointed out after a sip of butterbeer. “We’d have to be snogging outright for them to realize.”

“True.” Draco took a long drink as well, his grey eyes looking from the table and wandering about the room in a wary sort of way. He looked a bit uncomfortable, to Harry’s dismay, but it wasn’t surprising. The noise of the area, the scores of observers around - they had ever only gone out to be alone together, and the atmosphere felt almost oppressive. 

“Hey, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” Harry said softly, leaning forward. “We can leave if you want.” 

“I’m fine.” Draco’s gaze turned to steel. “I’m simply not used to this kind of thing. Unless you don’t want to be seen with me,” He added.

“That’s not it at all,” Harry said quickly. His hand moved as if to grab Draco’s, then remembered their surroundings and slid back again. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m okay, Potter,” Draco replied, expression softening. “Besides, this will be good practice for when we’re openly dating.” 

“When we’re openly dating?” Harry repeated, his heart giving a sort of shiver at the prospect of being out to the whole school. Though he knew the backlash for him being bisexual wouldn’t be unbearable, he couldn’t imagine strangers’ reactions to the Chosen One and an ex-Death Eater dating. Whether they were gay or not. 

“We’ll get there eventually,” Draco shrugged, his fingers tapping absentmindedly on the table. He lowered his voice to a near-whisper that traveled to Harry’s ears beneath the irrelevant chatter. “Someday, I’ll kiss you in here. And no one will say a thing about it.” 

Harry bit his lip, equally enamored with and terrified of the possibility. “Is that a promise?”

“You forget who you’re dealing with, Potter. I’m no good with promises.”

Harry shook his head, his hand drifting up to his chest. The necklace, chilly on his skin, rested there as always. He often forgot it was there, but Draco’s statement made him recall the night he gave the pendant. “You promised this necklace wasn’t cursed. And so far, nothing bad has happened to me.”

Draco let silence fall then, which was a bit concerning. Then, looking over Harry’s shoulder, he sighed and said, “Oh, no.” 

Peeking behind him, Harry felt an all-too-familiar distaste clench his insides. Hatred crossed the pug-like face of Pansy Parkinson as she spotted Harry, and he glared at her with a similar expression. Though their rivalry hadn’t been as pronounced as Harry’s with Draco, Pansy never followed in her fellow pureblood’s footsteps in attempting to be friendly. Behind her walked Henrietta Carrow, her shoulder-length dirty blonde hair pinned back from a guarded expression. 

“Parkinson,” Draco said in a resentful tone. “Hello, Henrietta,” He said, slightly less threateningly.

“Draco.” The girl gave him a quick, forced smile. 

“Don’t talk to him,” Pansy said warningly. Her dark eyes narrowed at Draco, and the young man stared back with matched dislike. From Harry’s perspective, the two had always seemed to get along fine until this year, but he had never asked Draco about it, as the Slytherin became sour even at the mention of her name. 

“Yes, perhaps you’d better not, Carrow,” Draco agreed, and sneered at Pansy. “I thought you two and Anaya had decided not to speak to me.”

“We had, but we’ve heard a few interesting things about you lately and wanted to confirm,” Pansy said with a nasty smile. “Is it true your parents are going to Azkaban?”

The mocking look from Draco’s face fell immediately. 

Pansy’s smile widened cruelly. “Stupid enough to get caught, huh?” Draco’s jaw clenched, and he looked down at the table. “And I hear you’re being shipped off, too, the second you change out of your graduation robes.”

The fear in Draco’s eyes was palpable. Pansy’s lip curled, and a fierce anger pierced through Harry, unbidden. “Shut it,” He growled, standing up. 

“What did you say to me?” Pansy looked at Harry as if sizing him up for a fight.

“Sit down,” Draco said. His fists were curled so tightly that bluish veins stood out starkly on the white skin. 

“I _said_ , shut your mouth, Parkinson,” Harry said, his blood boiling.

“Or what?” Pansy scoffed. Next to her, Henrietta watched the exchange with both fear and curiosity, blue eyes shifting between the three students. “You filthy half-”

“Sit _down_ , Potter,” Draco commanded loudly. Teeth grinding angrily, Harry reluctantly sat down. 

“Isn’t that funny,” Pansy jeered. “Look how little Potter does whatever Draco tells him to, Henrietta. Like a dog.” 

Before Harry could come up with a retort, Draco was up in a flash, his wand instantaneously appearing in his hand. He aimed it straight at Pansy’s head, the tip scarcely an inch from her face. Draco’s eyes flashed with an unadulterated, heartless fury that echoed in his voice as he spoke. 

“One more word,” Draco snarled quietly, “And I’ll curse your fucking eyes out.”

Both Pansy and Henrietta paled, watching the wand with fearful expressions. Though no one but the girls and Harry had heard Draco’s threat, the people nearby fell silent at the exposed weapon. Except for the whispers - the whispers began as they recognized a Malfoy, and some older wizards began to draw their wands as well. 

“Draco, we need to leave. Right now,” Harry hissed, and Draco lowered his wand, the seriousness of what he had done immediately registering within him. He nodded once, then the duo quickly moved out of the booth and headed for the door. Patrons stared as they left, their eyes burning holes into their backs. 

Neither man spoke as they emerged onto the snow-glazed street. Draco strode away, cursing to himself, and Harry had to jog to keep up. They reached a small glade a little way from The Three Broomsticks; bare-branched trees and Hogsmeade buildings sheltered them from the busy road, and it was only until he was sure that they were out of earshot from anyone else did Draco shout in frustration. 

“Damn her!” He yelled suddenly, causing a blue jay in a nearby bush to flutter away. Harry was startled as well and didn’t dare to say anything until Draco, breathing heavily, collapsed onto a rock. 

“Er…what just happened?”

“What do you mean?” Draco said, running two hands exasperatedly through his hair, mussing it. (A gesture which Harry for some reason found immensely attractive, but that was beside the point.) “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice the loud, obvious quarrel that you were a part of…”

“There’s more to it than that,” Harry said. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“I didn’t think she’d make a big deal out of it,” Draco replied cryptically. “The Parkinsons hated my family, especially when we fought for the Dark Lord, and they were shunted to the side. They thought with Pansy, they’d have a chance to gain some power through us.”

Harry gave him a confused look. “What are you talking about?”

Draco wrung his hands, gaze falling to the ground. “Pansy and I were betrothed.” The silence that followed was broken only by a flapping of tiny wings as the blue jay from earlier cautiously alighted upon a neighboring tree. Harry’s mouth fell open, and it took him a moment to come up with words to say.

“You… _what_?” When?” 

“Since third year,” Draco replied, “But my parents and hers didn’t tell us until the summer before our fifth. Then, because the Parkinsons were too embarrassed to let the other pureblood families know that it was arranged, they made us date for real. Merlin, it was…she was…” Draco grimaced. “Pansy tried so hard to please me, but she never asked what I really wanted. And when I tried to tell her that I was putting on an act, that I didn’t want this, she didn’t listen. She badly wanted it to be real. Desperate for affection, I suppose. I would have felt bad for her, but then she told me she’d fallen in love with me. Stupid girl,” He added bitterly. 

Harry frowned at Draco’s harshness. “You never told me any of this.”

“I’m telling you now.”

“Fine. So, what happened?”

“The Dark Lord, that’s what happened,” Draco said grimly. “At first, my family’s position on his side looked desirable, at least on the surface. But slowly, our reputation began to deteriorate, because…” He trailed off, looking unwilling to spare too many details. “Well, it’s not relevant. The point is, after we lost the war, no one wanted to be associated with the Malfoy name. Overall, we managed to retain a fair amount of influence, but we lost all credibility with the other pureblood families. The Parkinsons haven’t spoken to us about the betrothal ever since. Actually, they haven’t spoken to us at all, save for Pansy. She tried to keep our relationship going, but it didn’t last long. So she became resentful towards her family for not trying to maintain ties with me. Eventually, she realized that falling for me in the first place was a mistake.” Draco paused here, meeting Harry’s eyes briefly before continuing. “I suppose, in the wake of heartbreak, she’s convinced herself it’s all my fault. For not trying hard enough to truly love her.”

Harry took all that Draco had told him and attempted to make sense of it, recalling how clingy Pansy appeared toward the Slytherin in later years. Back then, Draco seemed to enjoy her constant attention and affection - but then again, if his prior status as Death Eater was any indication, Draco knew how to put on an act. And he did so convincingly. _Maybe Pansy was acting, as well,_ Harry considered. Though he didn’t dare to admit so in front of anyone, the idea of someone so loathsome wanting Draco to herself nearly sickened him. 

“Do you think she really loved you?” Harry asked.

“Perhaps she did, once,” Draco said dismissively. “Now she’s just taking out all her anger on me and the rest of my family. She probably can’t wait to see the day I’m shut in Azkaban. Hell, that day might come in less than a year.” Draco looked up from his twisting hands and gave Harry a weary, hopeless look. The wind began to pick up for a moment, sending the trees shivering, their twigs rustling dryly in the wind. 

Harry set his jaw. Something fierce tugged at his heartstrings - a desire to protect. “Screw that.”

Draco’s mouth twitched. “Excuse me?”

“I said, screw that. You’re not going to Azkaban. I’ll vouch for you, if I can; my say might mean something. The Ministry let you go to school one more year, they’re not going to send you to prison. You were just a kid.”

“You’re my age,” Draco countered, “And you vanquished the Dark Lord.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t born into a family of Death Eaters.” As Harry spoke, he walked over to stand in front of Draco. Their eyes met, and from the emerald pair, a wordless proclamation was issued - a challenge. “You can change, Draco Malfoy. Prove to them,” His gesturing hand included all the world, “That you’re not as bad as they say you are. The Weasleys have seen it, Hermione and Ron and Ginny have seen it, Merlin knows Luna’s seen it. I know you’re a good person, somewhere in there. It’s time you knew it as well.”

Draco’s face was filled with sadness and desperation. But Harry could tell he was listening. “Why do you believe in me so much, Potter?”

“Because I lo-” Harry shook his head, once. “I trust you, okay? Also, if Pansy keeps bothering you with this Azkaban rubbish,” He rushed on, “Let me know.”

“Why, what will you do? Give her a stern talking-to?” Draco suggested, tone sharp with sarcasm. 

Harry pursed his lips. “Well…What else could I do? I can’t exactly curse her.” And when Draco looked skeptical, he added, “I can be intimidating if I want to be.”

Draco shrugged in a defeated sort of way. “I suppose so.” He shifted over on the rock and, after a moment’s hesitation, patted the spot next to him. “Sit with me.”

Harry stared at him for a moment, but at the despondency in Draco’s eyes, he decided to oblige. Pressed close to him within such a small space, Harry could feel Draco’s body shaking from the aftermath of the altercation. Wordlessly, Harry reached over and clasped Draco’s hands in his own, firmly but gently. He gazed at them for a moment, pale fingers encompassed by darker ones. Then he looked up at Draco - to Harry’s profound surprise, the young man was crying. 

Tears slipped out, unassumingly onto cheeks flushed with cold, falling onto Draco’s black clothes. His face trembled with the effort of hiding his emotions, but his eyes betrayed everything. “Potter, I…” He choked on the words.

“Draco.” Harry gathered his distressed friend into his arms. He moved his hand in soothing circles on Draco’s back as he cried silently into Harry’s shoulder. “It’s okay… It’s okay,” He said it over and over, like a chant. “You’ll be okay.”

Misery rolled off Draco in waves - Harry had felt it from him since sixth year, ever since he’d been tarnished with the Dark Mark. But this was wildly different, having Draco’s desperate hands cling to him. Harry was now aware that he had become partially, if not completely, responsible for Draco’s well-being…and that scared the hell out of him. Harry Potter, both the Boy Who Lived and the boy who died, held captive by a prophecy for eighteen years - how was he any less broken than the child forced into a life of crime and hate?

It would have been easier for Harry to push Draco away and leave him to his own devices. Perhaps, Harry wondered, he’d be better off doing so, as Draco would forever be a living reminder of the enemies that made his childhood a traumatizing quest against evil. But Harry knew that mercy was an option. There was always mercy and hope and forgiveness. “It’s okay,” Harry whispered, refusing to let go. “I’ve got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really tried to be hardcore and dramatic to some degree in this chapter, but I couldn't resist adding some imagery and bird symbolism...


	27. Small Steps

A handful of seventh years wove through the hallways with their noses in a book. Not entirely strange, since they were Ravenclaws, but they collectively read identical, massive volumes. Their intense perusing caused multiple student collisions, with more than one bottle of spilled ink staining the flagstones. 

Only Luna Lovegood seemed entirely unaffected by the stress her fellow housemates were under, and her own hands were empty as she walked, humming, from breakfast. 

Lost in his own thoughts, as he often was, Harry gave a start once he noticed Luna at his elbow. “Oh! Good morning, Luna.”

“Lovely morning,” Luna paused her hummed tune to greet him. “Where are you headed?” 

“Potions, you?”

“History of Magic,” She replied, “We have a test today. That’s why all the Ravenclaws are studying right now. Wonderfully intelligent, you know, but awful procrastinators.”

“You studied earlier, then?” Harry asked.

“Oh, no. I don’t study for non-practical tests,” Luna said airily, “Especially if they’re multiple choice. I’m a good guesser.” She beamed. 

“I see…” Harry’s footsteps slowed; the pair was coming up on a stairwell, where Harry would have to descend into the dungeons and leave Luna behind. “Good luck, then.”

“Hold on, Harry,” Luna said suddenly. “There’s a reason I came to talk to you,” She murmured, tapping her chin thoughtfully. Under her breath, she sang a quick strain of the same wordless tune she had been humming before. Apparently, this refreshed Luna’s memory, and she stated, “Ginny and I are coming out today.”

“Really?” Harry leaned a bit closer and lowered his voice so the surrounding students wouldn’t hear. “To the whole school?” 

Luna shook her head vigorously, making her hair swish against her robes. “No, just to you, Ron, and Hermione. And Draco, I suppose. I should check with Ginny,” She added, mostly to herself. “I wanted to let you know so you can act properly surprised when the time comes.”

“Sure.” Harry felt a slight twinge of guilt at deceiving his friends, but at least after today, they’d all be in on this particular secret. “Er, Luna, before you go…Is Ginny mad at me?” Ever since she found out about him and Draco, Ginny had been decidedly chilly towards Harry. She was civil enough to him, especially during Quidditch practice, but had seemingly avoided talking to him any more than she had to. 

Luna shook her head again. “I don’t think so. She feels…a bit betrayed, I think. You started dating Draco, someone whom she used to despise, rather out of the blue. Soon after you two broke up, no less.”

“She broke up with me in the first place,” Harry grumbled, thinking this explanation a bit nonsensical, and Luna only shrugged elegantly in response.

“Honestly, I don’t know what Ginny’s thinking half the time, either,” Luna professed, “But perhaps some girls are simply like that. Hard to read.” 

Harry nodded emphatically. “Exactly.”

“But she’s certainly worth a little trouble,” Luna said with a conspiratorial grin. A loud clanging noise punctuated the end of her sentence - the bell for their first period had begun to ring. “See you later, Harry,” Luna waved as she drifted towards the staircase.

“See you.” Harry sped off towards the dungeons, slowing slightly on the slimy steps so as not to slip. He took careful note of the number of chimes, hoping to make it to class before the ninth. Professor Slughorn gave out tardy-related detentions as unpredictably as his mood changed. 

The final gong reverberated through the cold depths of the dungeon as Harry skidded to a halt in front of the classroom’s entrance. He quickly twisted the handle and slipped inside, panting. Thankfully, the rest of the class was still chattering as they lay textbooks next to their cauldrons, and Harry’s rushed appearance went mostly unnoticed. Even Hermione, whom Harry knew would otherwise throw him a scolding look for tardiness, talked animatedly with Ron and paid him no notice. Professor Slughorn had his back turned, rifling through his notes in preparation to write on the board. 

Only Draco eyed his companion with a mixture of disapproval and interest as Harry took the seat next to him and hastily retrieved his copy of _Recipes for the Advanced Potioneer_. 

“Took your time getting here, Potter?” Draco drawled, his mouth twitching with the shadow of a smile. “You missed what we’re doing today,” He chastised as Professor Slughorn waved his wand, causing chalked terms to appear on the board. 

“Anything to inconvenience you, Malfoy,” Harry replied, a shade louder than usual. Beneath the desk, he accidentally-on-purpose brushed his knee against Draco’s, their long robes shielding the affectionate gesture from students sitting behind. Draco’s smile became more pronounced, and he covered his mouth to make it look like he was thinking hard. 

“We’re taking notes on a brief lecture,” Draco muttered, nodding at their professor, “And then brewing a Manegro Potion, page 252.” 

“Thanks,” Harry said under his breath, reaching for a quill and a roll of spare parchment.

As Professor Slughorn began to talk at length about the effects of various vegetable roots, Harry’s mind started to wander. Ever since the Valentine’s outing a few days ago, he had realized that he knew a lot less about Draco than he thought. There was a whole eighteen years of a life Harry had not been privy to, and vice versa with Draco - unfortunately, there seemed to be less time than ever to discuss any of it. Even as their relationship deepened, Harry and Draco reached an unspoken agreement to act relatively indifferent to each other in public, for fear of revealing too much. It didn’t help that, besides rare outbursts of emotion, Draco tended to clam up and steer the conversation in a different direction whenever Harry got too personal. 

As he wondered whether Draco would ever open up to him, Harry found himself staring absentmindedly at him. Today, Draco appeared to have applied less hair gel than usual, causing a section of blond locks to drape adorably over his forehead. This observation registered dimly in the back of Harry’s mind, and it was with a start that he realized he’d stopped taking notes entirely, and instead began to admire his partner’s finer features.

Abruptly, Draco looked up to meet Harry’s eyes, and the Slytherin mouthed, _you’re staring._ Feeling his face grow warm, Harry pulled his gaze away and fixed it resolutely on the board, though he knew, without looking, that Draco was smirking. 

The quills’ scratching slowed to a halt as Professor Slughorn finished his lecture and instructed them to light their cauldrons. “You all know the drill,” He said genially, “Begin brewing, stick to the page, and I’ll be around to answer any questions.” With a general sweep of his arm, clothed in forest-green robes, he signaled the class to begin. 

Harry flipped to the correct page as Draco pored over his own book, making a note of the ingredients. With a flick of his wand, Draco caused cobalt flames to erupt beneath their iron-heavy cauldron.

“I’ll get the eucalyptus and fairy tears from the stores,” Draco stated, “And you can chop up the licorice root.”

“Okay.” Harry knelt beneath their workstation for the root, counting out the stalks and setting them upon a cutting board. He had just gotten out his silver dagger when Draco returned with a vial and a bell jar.

“Wait a moment.” Draco placed the ingredients on the counter and slid over his textbook, brow furrowing as he thought of something. “Cut the licorice into slivers, Potter. As thin as you can.”

Harry knew the textbook called for rough cubes, but he had learned to trust Draco’s potion instincts over the months. “Alright…if you say so.”

Draco nodded curtly, procured a mortar and pestle, and began to the eucalyptus leaves. Harry sliced the licorice root accordingly, careful not to cut himself on the dagger’s keen edge.

The pair worked in relative silence and coordination, speaking only in whispers to pass ingredients and various tools. Before long, the surface of their potion settled to a bright shade of silver, with lilac vapor rising from the top. Except for Hermione and Ron’s potion, the rest of the class hadn’t achieved such results - the worst was a cauldron shared by Pansy Parkinson and Anaya Carrow, which somehow emitted navy-colored smoke that smelled overwhelmingly of peppermint. Pansy caught Draco’s criticizing look and glared at him with such loathing it sent a chill down Harry’s spine. 

“She’s only sore because I won’t help her out anymore,” Draco murmured, unable to keep the mocking out of his tone. He was right, however. Anaya, darkly sullen and indifferent to Pansy’s frustration, didn’t even flinch at the obviously botched potion. 

Slughorn had begun his customary rounds of the classroom, peering into cauldrons to see if the concoctions were fit to be tested. He gave Hermione and Ron an approving nod, Henrietta’s solitarily brewed potion an appreciative sniff, and the rest of the cauldrons a combination of raised eyebrows or outright grimacing. As he peered into Draco’s and Harry’s cauldron, a smile spread across Professor Slughorn’s lined face. 

“Excellent work, as usual,” He commended. Draco smiled smugly as Pansy threw both he and Harry a dirty look from across the dungeon.

With the ringing of the bell, Harry and Draco met Ron and Hermione just outside of the classroom. “Nice potion,” Hermione told them as the group headed down the hallway. “You two always manage to do perfectly.”

“Come off it, Hermione, too much praise and their heads will explode,” Ron joked, but his expression quickly grew solemn when he realized who he was talking to. “Um, no offense, Malfoy.”

“None taken, that was funny,” Draco said with a half-shrug. Harry knew he was being sincere, though he wasn’t sure if Hermione and Ron could tell - thankfully, Ron looked somewhat mollified.

“I’d better get going,” Hermione declared as they ascended to the ground floor. She gave Ron a quick kiss on the cheek and a brief wave to the other two before rushing off to Muggle Studies.

“Where d’you want to go?” Ron said, his stroll leisurely as he contemplated the free hour before them.

“Dunno, anywhere is fine with me. The Tower, maybe. Malfoy?”

“I’m off to the library,” Draco said airily, “That end-of-year essay isn’t going to write itself.”

“Blimey, you sound like Hermione,” Ron remarked, genuinely concerned at this proof of their similarities.

Draco only smiled wryly in response as they parted ways. A fragment of regret rose through Harry’s chest as he watched him go - he was happy, of course, to hang out with his best mate, but a part of him couldn’t help but imagine a reality where Draco could openly spare a kiss of farewell just as Hermione had.

• • •

The smell of rotting leaves followed the eighth-year students as they exited Greenhouse Five, each of them gratefully taking great gulps of fresh February air. Most teens walked briskly from the greenhouse without looking back, wanting to put as much distance as possible between them and the horrors lurking behind the glass. Others took no such precautions but made a point to brush the various bits of plant matter from their clothes and hair as they left.

“Urgh, I never want to work with those again,” Hermione groaned, combing through her thick mane for stray twigs. 

“Same,” Ron said, and Harry nodded, grimacing. “Missed a spot, Hermione,” He told his girlfriend and pulled a raggedy leaf from the back of her head.

“Thanks.” Hermione spotted the leaf, which seemed to be glimmering with ooze, as Ron flicked it away. “Urgh,” She repeated.

“Yes,” Ron agreed. “Merlin, what a freak show. Straight to the common room, yeah? Nature’s not particularly agreeable at the moment.” He lowered his gaze, presumably to eye the grass, but came face to face with a beaming person instead. 

Ron actually yelped at Luna’s appearance at his elbow, which was sudden enough to startle. “Hello, Ron,” Luna said, quite unperturbed at his reaction. “Harry, Hermione.”

“I-I’m sorry, Luna,” Ron stammered, clutching his chest as his friends greeted the Ravenclaw. “Bit on edge, you know, after Herbology…”

“Oh? Why?”

“Resurrecting Corpse Squashes,” Harry explained as Ron rubbed his chest fervently as if forcing his heartbeat to slow down. “Sprang up unexpectedly just yesterday, so Professor Sprout had us replant them. They’re the weirdest-”

“Scariest,” Hermione offered with a shudder. 

“- and scariest plants I’ve ever seen,” Harry amended. “Like mini Inferi,” He spoke aloud the comparison that popped into his head, and it seemed to fit. “But with more leaves.”

“And sludgy seed juice,” Ron added. 

“Yeah, that too.”

“Sounds gruesome,” Luna said with a mildly intrigued expression. “Well, I hope you can get over your shock soon because there may be another one coming.”

“What are you talking about?” Ron asked, concerned at her suggestion.

“Nothing involving zombie-like plants,” Luna continued reassuringly. “Come on, we’ll meet Ginny at Gryffindor Tower.”

“What’s going on at Gryffindor Tower?” Came a new, curious voice, and Ron yelled in shock again as Draco emerged from the greenhouses’ shade to join them. 

“Stop _sneaking!_ ” Ron moaned, covering his face and giving a strange little shake. 

Draco ignored him and moved to walk beside Harry. The least squeamish of the class, he had stayed behind to help Professor Sprout clean the debris from their lesson, and subsequently was unimpressed with Ron’s fearful reactions. 

“You ought to come as well, Draco,” Luna said thoughtfully as the fivesome arrived at the castle’s interior. 

“For what?” Draco inquired, but Luna only smiled serenely and answered no more questions until they had all reached the painting of the Fat Lady. 

The hefty woman herself was wide awake, as the hallways were busiest right after school. She smoothed her pink dress and smiled genially as they approached, but then her eyes fell on Draco’s green and silver tie. 

“No,” She said adamantly once the group had gathered before the painting. “No Slytherins; I won’t have it.”

“We’re allowed to go to any house’s common room before curfew,” Hermione piped up, “So long as we know the password.”

“ _He_ doesn’t know it,” The Fat Lady said, jutting her wobbly chin at Draco.

“I don’t know it either,” Luna said reasonably.

“Ravenclaws are fine,” Said the painted figure, “But I won’t have _his_ kind wrecking the place.” 

Draco, who had fallen silent, stared at the ground, his face utterly blank. The rest of the students stayed in place, not leaving the Slytherin behind but equally reluctant to defend him. Cold anger reared its head within Harry’s chest - hadn’t McGonagall began the year with a speech mentioning inter-house friendship? 

“Falcon’s nest,” Harry declared, stepping forward. “That’s the password, right? And now Malfoy knows it anyway, so just let us in.”

The Fat Lady pressed her mouth into a thin line.

“He’s as much of a Hogwarts student as any of us!” Fury raised Harry’s voice, and he noticed Draco’s bowed head lift up. He didn’t understand why he was getting so angry - he simply felt it. The painting did not budge; the Fat Lady’s arms were crossed. “Falcon’s nest, for goodness’s sake, if you don’t,” He thrust his hand into his robes, and Hermione gasped, “Open up, I’ll-”

The portrait swung open, but not of the inhabitant’s own volition; Ginny poked her fiery head through, eyeing them worriedly. 

“Thought I heard you shouting, Harry,” Ginny said. “Were you about to pull your wand on Esther?” 

“That’s her name, then?” Ron murmured as Harry withdrew his hand from his robes and ran it through his hair. 

“Er…”

“He might have,” Esther said grumpily, “If you hadn’t opened the door. I suppose you’re going to let them all in, then? Even the dangerous one?”

“He’s not…!” Harry began but was quelled by a hand on his shoulder. Draco gave a tiny shake of the head, wearing a look that clearly said, _enough._

“Malfoy happens to be Luna’s friend,” Ginny said, without looking at him. “Come in, you lot.”

Ignoring Esther’s protests, the five friends clambered through and entered the Gryffindor common room. The bright tapestries, flickering fireplace, and soft sofas scattered about usually made Harry feel right at home, but he was still fuming about the Fat Lady’s display of anti-Slytherin sentiment.

“It’s so cozy,” Draco muttered to himself, his silver eyes sweeping the room with interest. He fell back from the group to have a proper look around, and Harry followed suit, wanting to address what just happened.

“You okay?” Harry asked quietly as he let the others move ahead.

“Are you asking because of what the painted lady said?” Draco said dismissively. “Please. I’ve been a Slytherin for eight years now. We get used to that. Mostly, anyway.” His face fell, and Harry wished to take his hand, but there were too many eyes watching. 

“It shouldn’t be normal,” Harry said fiercely. “Even before I came here, I automatically considered Slytherin to be the ‘evil’ house. Which obviously isn’t true.”

“Not so obvious,” Draco contradicted softly, but before Harry could argue the point, Ginny waved impatiently at them.

The six students settled in a secluded corner of the room, the presence of a Slytherin having spooked a couple of nearby younger Gryffindors away. Ginny and Luna sat close together, and after a moment’s hesitation, Ginny took her girlfriend’s hand. There was no outward reaction from the other four, though Harry exchanged a meaningful glance with Luna as Ginny began to speak.

“Luna and I have an announcement,” Ginny said slowly, making eye contact with each of the four in turn. “And…well, no sense in delaying it. We’re dating.”

Harry saw Draco’s silver eyes widen, and he mimicked him, feigning surprise. Ron’s eyebrows shot up into his red hair. Hermione, a smile growing across her face, was the first to say anything.

“Congratulations, you two!” She said excitedly. “How long have you been together?”

“Official since October, I believe?” Ginny looked at Luna, who nodded. 

“Yeah, congratulations,” Harry echoed, his grin genuine. Luna smiled at him. 

“Surely you don’t need my approval,” Draco said, “But you have it, I suppose.”

Ginny looked surprised at this, but she thanked all three, nevertheless. 

Luna’s gaze fell upon Ron, who seemed to be in deep thought. “You alright, Ron?”

“I don’t remember you liking any girls ever, Ginny,” Ron said abruptly, making his sister’s face flush.

“Just because you don’t pay attention to my preferences enough doesn’t make them any less valid,” Ginny said, brown eyes narrowing.

“No! No, of course not, I’m okay with it,” Ron said quickly. “A bit unexpected, that’s all.”

“Yes, you kept it hidden quite well,” Hermione added as Ginny softened. “But I’m glad you two finally told us. I can’t speak for the rest of Hogwarts, but we’ve no objections to same-sex couples.”

“Although it goes without saying,” Ron said sternly, “That if you break Ginny’s heart, you’ll have her brothers to answer to.”

Luna, sweet and kind Luna, giggled heartily at this. “How could I? I’m just lucky to be with her.”

“Don’t be silly,” Ginny replied, blushing, “You’re amazing.”

“You’re amazing, petal.”

“We get it now, you’re perfect for each other,” Ron remarked, wearing an expression that was a mixture of annoyance and relief. “Blimey, Harry, I bet you thought you’d end up with Ginny.”

“Oh, er…I dunno,” Harry stammered as Hermione berated her boyfriend for his lack of tact. He and Draco looked meaningfully at each other, and he knew they were both wondering the same thing: How would Ron react if he found out Harry had moved on to an ex-Death Eater instead? 

This silent exchange did not go unnoticed by Ginny, who looked between Draco and Harry. Hermione and Ron began to bicker, as they were wont to do, and Ginny whispered something to Luna, who nodded. 

Then, after a pause in which Ginny did some swift thinking, she said loudly, “Hermione, Ron, are you two still prefects?”

Hermione shook her head. “There aren’t any prefects in eighth year, there’s not enough students.”

“Oh,” Ginny said, looking a bit dismayed. “Er, well, I suppose you still have some authority. To the younger years, at least. You see, there’s been some incidents recently in the boys’ dormitory - I heard about it from a few classmates. I think a fourth-year got a hold of some bootleg Wheezes products, and they’ve been turning their dorm mates into animals in their sleep by force-feeding them Creature Creams.”

“So, what do you want us to do?” Ron said, who lit up at the mention of Creature Creams.

“Well, no one’s been able to find the box yet,” Ginny said seriously, “And I figured if anyone could, it’d be you and Hermione.”

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to take a look,” Hermione said. “Want to come with, Harry?”

“We don’t need three people for this,” Ron replied, standing up, and Hermione followed suit. “I’ll save you some if we find them,” He told Harry with a grin, and his girlfriend threw him a disapproving look as they left for the dormitories. 

“Is that story true, Ginny?” Harry asked once they were out of earshot.

“No,” She admitted point-blank. “Well, it might be. Who knows what the younger boys get up to? Anyway, they’ll be gone long enough for us to talk.”

“Sneaky,” Draco said appreciatively. “You’d make a fine Slytherin.”

Ginny looked a bit taken aback at this but decided to take it as a compliment. “Thanks.”

“So, what did you want to talk about?” Harry inquired.

“You know…” Ginny looked pointedly at Draco. “About you two.”

“What about us two?” Draco said defensively, and it was with a sinking feeling that Harry remembered he never told him that Luna had found out.

“You didn’t tell him?” Luna asked Harry.

“Tell me what?” The pitch of Draco’s voice had gone up a few increments, as it did whenever he got anxious. 

Luna leaned forward and lowered her voice so the Gryffindors chatting in the common room wouldn’t hear. “We know you’re dating Harry.”

“That’s preposterous.” Draco had become very still. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Draco, it’s okay,” Harry lay a comforting hand on his arm. “Ginny and Luna know already. They can keep a secret.”

“Not here,” Draco hissed, and Harry rolled his eyes but ceased touching him. “How’d you find out?” He demanded.

“Luna’s observant,” Ginny said simply. “And to be honest, once she told me, it made sense. I can see it in the way you guys act around each other.”

“Only the way we act…!” Draco spluttered, distressed over their blown cover. 

“Calm down,” Ginny said firmly, and Draco reluctantly stopped talking. “See, you wouldn’t be this upset if you were already out to everyone. Then there’s no secrets to hide.”

“How would you know, you came out two seconds ago-”

“And look how well it went,” Luna cut across him, in a very un-Luna-like way. “Draco, Harry, you can’t live in the dark like this.”

“I agree,” Harry said, and he turned to his companion, whose brows were knitted together in worry. “Ron and Hermione will be fine with it, sooner or later. Ginny was.”

“Not at first,” Ginny corrected. “I’m still not used to the idea. But fuck it, eh? If you like each other, you like each other.”

Harry yearned to take Draco’s hands. Instead, he tried to reach him with his eyes as he spoke sincerely. “Keeping us a secret…it hurts. Doesn’t it?”

Draco nodded slowly. Luna smiled encouragingly. “I’m sorry,” He whispered. “I’m not ready, I can’t do it yet. I’m not brave like you.”

“Yes, you are,” Harry said insistently. “We both know how much you’re risking just being with me. Hell, you know that more than I do.” 

Draco nodded. His pale eyes were swimming with tears, and he seemed to be fighting not to let them fall. “I’m just really scared,” He admitted, with a glance at Luna and Ginny as if they’d make fun of him, but the couple wore expressions of empathy. 

“Me too,” Harry said, though he was painfully aware that Draco had more to fear. 

“Hey,” Ginny said suddenly, “Hermione and Ron don’t know you’re bisexual, do they?” 

“How do _you_ know I’m bisexual?” Harry countered. “For all you know, I could be gay.”

“You’re not gay,” Ginny said, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve kissed me before, I can tell you’re definitely into girls.”

Harry turned red at this; even Luna and Draco looked a bit flustered. “Okay, yes, I’m bisexual,” He confessed, “And they don’t know.”

“Start with that, then,” Ginny suggested. “Come out to them as bi first, so they’re not completely surprised when you tell them you’re dating. Small steps.”

“I suppose that works,” Harry said. “What do you think, Malfoy?”

“As long as I don’t have to come out for a while yet,” Draco replied, looking relieved. 

Pleased that they had come up with a plan, at least for the short term, Harry stopped pressing the issue. Draco wiped his eyes surreptitiously on his sleeve and assumed his mask of indifference just as Ron and Hermione returned.

“Nothing.” Hermione shook her head, making her frizzy hair bounce. “Either fourth years know enough magic to make objects immune from Summoning Charms, or they’ve gotten rid of it already.”

“Probably the latter,” Ginny said reasonably. “Oh, well. Worth a shot.”

The homework load from that day was low enough that not even Hermione objected to staying and chatting for a while. The six students enjoyed each other’s company until the tower’s windows grew red with sunset. A few curious glances were spared for the odd Ravenclaw and Slytherin within the group; fortunately, surrounding Gryffindors decided not to say anything when they saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione with them. 

Draco hadn’t yet emerged out of his shell entirely, but Christmas and the following weeks had made the Slytherin considerably warmer to the others, and they to him. In fact, he did a better job of hiding his stress than Harry did; the Gryffindor talked much less than usual, his mind mulling over ways to come out to his best friends. Ought he wait a couple weeks so they could get over the shock of Ginny and Luna? Or should he do it as soon as possible to get it over with? Harry wanted to plan the conversation word-by-word so he wouldn’t mess it up - but at the same time, he felt he shouldn’t make so much fanfare over it. 

Hermione noticed Harry’s strange behavior; he could feel her eyes on him every time he didn’t notice someone speaking to him. But try as he might, he couldn’t stop fretting over the inevitable. The Chosen One had dodged dragons, killed a basilisk, and dueled with the Dark Lord, but telling his friends he liked boys seemed just as alien and uncomfortable. _No use in overthinking it,_ Harry told himself. _I’ve just got to grit my teeth and do it._

• • •

In the end, it was Draco who calmed Harry’s frantic brain waves. The rest of the Slytherins and eighth years had gone to bed close to midnight. The Black Lake pressed darkly against the windows, the crescent moon sparing no luminescence for its depths. Thus, it was by the warm green light of the enchanted sconces that Draco pulled Harry aside and sat with him on one of the room’s many black leather couches.

“You’re nervous,” Draco stated.

Harry rubbed his hands up and down his thighs to keep them from shaking; he didn’t deny it. “And it’s not even the day yet.”

“Come out tomorrow,” Draco said, “The sooner, the better.”

Harry nodded once. “Yes.”

“After school.”

“Okay.”

“By yourself.”

“Why?”

The shadows threw both their faces into statue-like relief, and Draco’s eyes gleamed like diamonds in the firelight. “It’d look too suspicious if I came with you. Granger would probably put two and two together.”

“True.” Harry quit moving his hands and instead clenched them together in his lap, so tightly that the brown skin became several shades paler.

“It’ll turn out fine,” Draco said softly, and he slid his arm over Harry’s shoulders, pulling him closer. “You have wonderful friends.”

There was a hint of envy in his words, and Draco’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on Harry’s arm. Harry titled his head up to look at him; Draco stared straight ahead; his expression impassive.

“They’re your friends, too.”

“Friendly acquaintances, maybe.”

“Do _I_ count as a wonderful friend?” Harry asked hopefully, and Draco smiled.

“I suppose so, Potter.”

Heat emanated from Draco’s body. He’d shed his outer robes, leaving the vest and dress shirt underneath. Harry tried not to stare, but he couldn’t help noticing the details.

“One might say…” Harry took a breath, anticipating Draco’s reaction. “That I’m your boyfriend.”

Draco looked at him then, their faces close. “Oh? And why might one say that?”

“Multiple reasons,” Harry said nonchalantly, though his heart hammered. “First off, I’m the only one who gets to do this.” He sat up and pressed his lips to Draco’s.

It was a thrilling feeling, being in Draco’s arms, sliding a hand to his slender waist as his fingers tangled in messy hair. Harry realized just how long it had been since they’d kissed, _properly_ kissed, and he didn’t want to lose that feeling. Unyielding, Harry parted Draco’s lips with his tongue and felt the him respond in kind. Suddenly Harry found himself tugging at Draco’s tie, loosening it, a part of him hungry to strip him until there was nothing left but pale skin. But even as Harry’s body sought to finish what they’d started on New Year’s Eve, his mind recoiled at unexplored territory.

Thankfully, Draco seemed to be thinking the same thing, and he pulled back an inch, so their mouths no longer touched, but their noses brushed each other. Harry thought he glimpsed something in those silver eyes - lust? It was too unfamiliar to tell - but it disappeared as quickly as it came.

“Potter…”

“Too fast?”

“Too fast,” Draco agreed, and he flung himself back onto the sofa in a breathless fashion. “You’re so…” He muttered, and the last words were indistinct.

“Sorry?”

“Nothing.” Draco flushed. “Nothing bad, anyway.”

Harry decided to take Draco’s word for it.

Darkness like ink crept in closer as the fire began to die down. Harry stared at Draco for a few minutes, freely admiring his tapered yet handsome features, slightly mussed blond hair, his luminous eyes as they gazed into his own. Like he had weeks earlier, Harry felt inebriated, but not with alcohol. He felt woozy with desire and admiration of the person in front of him - someone undoubtedly flawed, but all the more beautiful for their imperfections, both inside and out.

In a kind of trance, Harry reached over and pulled at the loosened tie around Draco’s collar.

“What are you…” Draco trailed off as Harry carefully undid the knot, sliding the fabric off and dropping it on the cushions.

“Can I keep going?” Harry asked, and Draco nodded mutely, eyes widening. “Tell me when to stop.”

With Draco’s help, Harry pulled the green-edged vest over his head. With slightly trembling hands, Harry started to unbutton the crisp, white shirt, exposing inch after inch of creamy skin.

Once he’d reached the middle of Draco’s chest, the blond murmured, “Stop.”

Harry’s hands removed themselves from the buttons. His fingertips hesitantly reached forward, brushing Draco’s skin. It was then, in the dim light, that he glimpsed the pale, slightly raised lines.

Hot guilt rose in Harry’s throat. He recalled porcelain and glass shattering, curses flying across the bathroom, blood dripping onto wet tile as the sixteen-year-old knelt in pain...

“ _Sectumsempra_ ,” Harry whispered. “I…I thought Snape fixed it.”

“The cuts on my face weren’t as deep as these,” Draco said. His tone was not accusatory but composed. “Madam Pomfrey said that dittany wasn’t enough to erase the scars entirely. I’ll always have them.”

“I’m sorry.” To his embarrassment and Draco’s surprise, tears began to fall into Harry’s lap - he had bowed his head, unable to look Draco in the eye. “I d-didn’t know what the spell did, I didn’t mean to…”

“Yes, I gathered as much from your reaction that day. Potter, I was going to use the Cruciatus Curse on you!” Draco said, tone rising in alarm as Harry wept openly.

“B-but pain is temporary, and you’ll have those forever, it’s m-my fault,” Harry cried, feeling ashamed at both the marks he’d made on Draco and his naive tears.

“For Merlin’s sake, pull yourself together!” Draco said sharply, and Harry looked up at him in shock, green eyes watery. “It’s not your fault.” Draco’s tone softened, and he took Harry’s face in both hands, thumbs wiping away his tears. “Potter. Potter, look at me.” Harry did. “You didn’t know. And trust me,” it was Draco’s turn to look guilty now, “I would have done worse.”

Harry sniffed. “I’m sorry.” He repeated.

“Don’t apologize.” Draco leaned forward and kissed Harry’s forehead, right beside his scar. Harry thought he’d melt into a puddle right then and there. “Come on, let’s go to bed. It’s been a long day.”

“You can say that again,” Harry sighed. The pair stood from the couch, Draco gathering his garments.

“I ought to thank you, Potter,” Draco said lightly, “I’m already half-undressed, it’ll be easier to get ready for bed now.”

Harry laughed. “Anytime, Malfoy.”

_It_ has _been a long day,_ Harry thought wearily as he clambered into bed. The dormitory was nearly pitch-black, and he fumbled for the nightstand to place his glasses upon it. Harry had imagined his life would be a whole lot easier after defeating Voldemort - and though the threat of the strange Asian wizards still existed, Harry no longer feared for his life. But school, friends, and a boyfriend succeeded in making his life complicated, anyway.

_A boyfriend._ Harry didn’t bother to try to squash the wide grin that spread across his face as he lay in bed, the blanket pulled to his chin against the castle’s chill. _I have a boyfriend._ He held the word to his chest like a precious jewel, falling asleep with a smile still lingering on his lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't realize how long this chapter was until I was editing it...But I had a lot of fun with it! The Golden Trio's interactions with Draco are one of my favorite parts of writing the fic.


	28. Awakening

A jet of red light streaked through the air like an arrow. Harry slashed his wand through the air to block it, but only a faint shimmer of a shield appeared for a brief moment before the curse hit him square in the chest. 

With a grunt, Harry was thrown backward onto the cushions, which did little to break his fall. He felt his body bruise for the third time that day, but he couldn’t move to assess the damage. 

“Hold on!” Came a soft voice, and Harry saw through askew glasses that Gavin Laurent, his Ravenclaw dueling partner, had knelt beside him. Wordlessly, his heart-shaped face screwed up in concentration, Gavin managed to revive Harry by passing his wand over the Gryffindor’s head. 

Harry sat up immediately, feeling his skull for blood; he thought he’d heard it thunk between the cushions as he fell. Fortunately, his fingers came away dry. “Thanks.”

“Let me have a go at Shielding this time,” Gavin suggested, brushing his feathery brown hair from his line of sight. 

“Sure,” Harry took Gavin’s offered hand and stood, twisting his wand nervously between his fingers. He pretended not to see the disdain in Gavin’s blue eyes and guessed that the Ravenclaw, like himself, wondered why the Chosen One couldn’t even cast a simple, nonverbal _Protego_. 

Draco, who had just blocked Parvati’s Stunning Spell with ease, caught Harry’s eye from across the room. Harry nodded at him, trying to convey the opposite of what he was really feeling, which was nervous terror. Once class ended, he planned to walk up to Ron and Hermione, ask to speak with them in private, and come out as bisexual. A three-step plan that should be simple, but just thinking about it made Harry’s insides flop about. 

Stunning turned out to be only slightly more successful than Shielding. Even Professor Dahlia noticed Harry was off his game; she slowed down as she passed the dueling pair, giving him a concerned glance. She had enough tact not to talk to him directly but dropped a few hints about concentration in wordless wandwork. 

Bruised, battered, and apprehensive, Harry picked up his schoolbag when the bell rang. After glancing warily around to make sure no one was watching them, Draco approached his boyfriend, briefly leaning close to him to whisper, “Good luck.”

Harry’s mouth was dry. “Thanks.” He felt Draco brush past him on his way to the library, but his eyes were fixed on Ron and Hermione chatting a few feet away. 

Feeling as if his legs had turned to jelly, Harry walked over to them. “Hello, Ron, Hermione,” He greeted stiffly. “Could I have a word with you both? Privately?” 

Ron and Hermione exchanged a confused glance. “Yeah,” Ron said, eyeing his best friend. “You alright, mate? You look a little clammy.”

“‘M fine,” Harry mumbled. “Er…let’s go to an empty classroom or something.”

The couple followed Harry down the hallway as he peered into every ajar door, stopping once they reached a classroom that had been recently vacated. Harry allowed Ron and Hermione to go in first before closing the door behind them. Hastily smudged chalk writing smeared the blackboard, and a single textbook sat on the desk in the back of the class, apparently forgotten or abandoned by its owner. Harry was forcibly reminded of the day Draco had come out to him, in a classroom similar to this one. As Hermione gave Harry a scrutinizing look, he immediately tried to wipe Draco from his mind; he was irrationally paranoid that she would somehow realize the Slytherin was behind Harry’s recent sexual awakening. 

Harry quickly ran through the rehearsed words in his mind as he leaned against the teacher’s desk. “It would be better if you sat down,” He suggested, and his voice seemed to be coming from far away. Ron and Hermione looked concerned at this, but they sat in the two front-most desks. 

“I recently figured something out about myself,” Harry began. “Though I think it’s been true for a while, I didn’t realize until last autumn.”

Ron and Hermione leaned forward in their seats when Harry paused. “So much suspense,” Ron remarked. “Come on, don’t leave us on tenterhooks. What is it, then? You can still talk to snakes?”

“What?” Harry said, caught off guard by the suggestion. “What, no, I stopped being a Parselmouth when…you know.”

“The power might’ve come back,” Ron said with a shrug. 

“Anyway, that’s not it. I can’t talk to snakes anymore,” Harry continued. “It’s…I…I like boys.” He looked at the ground, face warm. 

A few moments of awkward silence passed. It occurred to Harry that he probably could have worded the confession differently. 

“But,” Ron’s voice sounded neutral, “What about Ginny? And Cho?” 

“I like girls, too,” Harry said, not looking at either of them. “What I’m trying to say is…er, I’m…”

“Bisexual?” Hermione offered kindly. Harry’s head lifted, and he saw her smiling at him. 

“Yes, I’m… I’m bi,” Harry looked between her and Ron, who was grinning. “What are you two smiling at? You aren’t mad?” 

“Harry, why would we be mad?” Hermione asked gently. 

“I dunno,” Harry said, feeling a strange mixture of confusion and elation. “I guess I thought…I deceived you both, I never told you.”

“Well, you realized only recently, right?” Hermione said. “I’m straight, I won’t pretend to be an expert on these things, but I’ve been doing a lot of reading, for the research paper,” She spoke without taking a breath, “And apparently LGBT teens often feel pressured by hetero - er, heteronormativity,” Hermione enunciated each syllable carefully. “Basically, gay youth expect to be straight and often don’t realize until much later if they’re not.”

Both Ron and Harry stared at her at the end of this rather long and rushed speech. “Makes sense,” Ron said, once he’d registered everything. “Mate, we don’t blame you for not telling us sooner. You don’t owe us an explanation for who you like. We’re just glad you’ve got things figured out, that’s all.” 

A wide smile spread across Harry’s face; tears of relief began to pool in his eyes, and he didn’t even try to blink them away. Of course, Hermione and Ron would accept him. They’d been to the cusp of life and death together, made mistakes together, got into fights and made up, saw each other fall for the wrong people more than once. Harry felt stupid that he’d considered the possibility of Ron and Hermione treating him like an outsider. 

“I love you so much,” Harry said to both of them, his throat tight. 

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione got up from the desk, Ron following suit. She put her arms around both of them, squeezing them in a warm, tight hug. “I love you, too.”

“Love you both,” Ron repeated, furiously wiping at his eyes.

For one long, shining moment, Harry remembered what it was like with just the three of them. Trusting Hermione and Ron with his life, knowing they had his back and he had theirs. Feeling Ron’s hand on his right shoulder, and Hermione’s smaller one on his left, Harry felt safe. He recalled something Hermione had said to him in first year, which had stuck with him ever since:

_“Harry - you’re a great wizard, you know,” Hermione said, her voice muffled in Harry’s shoulder._

_“I’m not as good as you,” replied Harry, very embarrassed, and she let go of him._

_“Me!” Hermione cried, “Books! And cleverness! There are more important things - friendship and bravery and - oh Harry - be careful!”_

It was this sentiment that surrounded Harry like the light of a loyal phoenix, and he basked in its glow until Ron and Hermione broke away, the latter’s cheeks unabashedly streaked with tears and the former looking at the ceiling. 

“Please, Harry,” Hermione said earnestly, “I hope you never again feel scared to tell us something like this. You know we’ll always support you.”

“I second that,” Ron said, and he beamed.

Harry returned his grin, but the comfortable bubble surrounding him popped at Hermione’s words. Would they support Harry if they knew whose lips he’d willingly kissed the night before? It scared him that he couldn’t confidently answer that question. 

“I could use some fresh air,” Harry said, “You want to head to the lake?”

“Sounds good,” Ron agreed.

Hermione pursed her lips. “We’re falling behind on homework,” She began but softened at the boys’ pleading expressions. “Oh, all _right_. But straight to the common room after dinner.” 

“Much obliged, ‘Mione,” Ron said affectionately, taking her hand. He opened the door for her and Harry, and they slipped into the now-busy hallway as students met up with their friends and dispersed throughout the castle. 

For once, Harry did not feel the instinct to search for Draco’s white-blond head within the crowd. He felt, for the moment, satisfied and fulfilled with just Ron and Hermione’s company, though their hands were entwined and his empty. Harry wanted to fool himself for a little while longer, telling himself that he didn’t need Draco - it’d be safer for them if they found other, more suitable partners. But at the same time, Harry knew the tug of his heartstrings would overcome logic, just as it always had, and he’d be in Draco’s arms at nightfall. Harry only hoped he’d never have to choose between his two friends and the former Death Eater - he wasn’t sure he could. 

• • •

Apart from Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, and Draco, Harry didn’t much give a damn whether the rest of the school knew about him being bi. But as Ron put it, once they were outside:

“People ought to know you’re available to boys now,” He told Harry as they waded in the shallows of the Black Lake. Despite the water’s freezing temperature, the two friends had decided to see who could stand in it the longest. Hermione looked up from reading every once in a while to watch with a mixture of disapproval and amusement.

“I don’t reckon there are many gay or bisexual blokes around here,” Harry remarked, wincing as numbness seized his bare calves.

“That you know of,” Ron corrected, standing comfortably with the water at his knees. “If you come out, maybe others will follow. You’re the Chosen One, after all. Or shall I call you Desirable Bachelor No. 1?” He suggested with a mischievous grin, and Harry snorted.

“Please don’t. So, what should I do then? Stand on the tables during breakfast and yell ‘I’m into blokes, too’ and wait for them to come running?”

“Well…” Ron considered this for a moment, then shook his head. “Better not. I think we can just rely on the Hogwarts rumor system.”

“Tell a few people and wait for the news to spread like wildfire,” Harry summarized. “I like the way you think, Mr. Weasley,” He said in an overly posh accent, nodding at Ron.

Ron took a sweeping bow, splashing his hand through the icy water. “Why, many thanks, Mr. Potter.”

Thus, in the Slytherin common room, Harry came out to Dean, Seamus, and Parvati in turn, hoping that their reactions would be as friendly as Ron’s and Hermione’s. Seamus did have a remark about how same-sex couples were against his religion, but he would continue to be Harry’s friend as long as he didn’t make any moves - an odd statement to make, Harry thought, but he let it slide.

Draco didn’t return until later that night. He joined Harry and the others in a few minutes of civil conversation as the common room began to empty, and while they talked, it occurred to Harry that Ron and Hermione probably expected him to come out to Draco, too.

“I’m off to bed,” Hermione said, stifling a yawn with one hand and closing her Herbology textbook with the other.

“Same,” Ron rolled up his parchment and looked to the other two. “Coming?”

“In a sec. I need to have a word with Malfoy,” Harry said meaningfully. His friends nodded knowingly, Ron giving him an encouraging thumbs-up before they left.

Draco raised an eyebrow at this nonverbal exchange but didn’t speak until Hermione and Ron were entirely out of earshot. “What was that about?” He asked dubiously. “You didn’t tell them about…us, did you?”

“No, no,” Harry said reassuringly, and he explained to Draco his coming-out plan.

“I see.” Draco tapped the table thoughtfully. “So, it went well, then?”

“Very well.”

“That’s good,” Draco murmured, his silver eyes impassive, though Harry suspected a million thoughts rushed behind them. Draco opened his mouth as if to say something, changed his mind, and closed it. Finally, he stood from the table, stretched, and said, “We should go, Potter, you said it wouldn’t take long.”

Harry cleared his throat. “…Right.” Secretly, he’d been hoping for a repeat of the night before, but there was something steely in Draco’s expression that made him unwilling to contradict him.

As they approached the door to the boys’ dormitory, Harry reached for the handle, but Draco suddenly grabbed his arm, preventing him from doing so.

“Forgot something,” Draco muttered, and before Harry could ask what, he tilted his head and kissed him, so soft and sweet that Harry’s mind went blank. “Goodnight, Potter.”

“‘Night, Draco,” Harry managed, and swung the door into the dark dormitory.

• • •

By Sunday, every person in Hogwarts castle knew that Harry James Potter was bisexual. Harry felt the stares burning on the back of his neck all weekend, in the hallway, in the Gryffindor and Slytherin common rooms, and the library. Though the center of attention was nothing new to him, Harry didn’t want to get used to it and spent most of his time outside with Ron, Hermione, and Draco, in the cold, shaded spots next to the lake where students didn’t linger. 

There were whispers, too, students with their heads together between the bookshelves and throwing Harry surreptitious glances when they thought he couldn’t see. Unfortunately, Ron’s optimistic prediction for boys showing interest in Harry did not come true. Harry heard predominately dissent, phrases like “that’s unnatural,” “maybe he’s just confused,” and perhaps most irritating of all, “I bet he’s secretly a poof.”

“How can they come to that conclusion?” Harry said frustratedly, gesticulating at the cloudy sky. He lay on dead leaves, schoolbag beneath his head, and thick robes shielding him from the chill and the damp ground. “They saw me with Ginny in sixth year, it’s not like they didn’t notice us together.”

Draco leisurely turned a page in the book he was reading as he sat against a tree just inches away. “People are ignorant gits,” He stated simply. “I should know, I am one.”

“Not so much anymore,” Harry pointed out. The Slytherin made a non-committal noise in his throat and continued reading. Harry frowned and continued to stare up into the pearly-gray firmament, wondering why everyone’s disapproval was bothering him so much. Usually, he couldn’t care less about what other Hogwarts students thought of him - eight years of being in the spotlight had taught him that wanting to please everyone was stressful and exhausting. But when people cast his sexuality into doubt, it seemed as if they insulted all bisexuals by association. And, though Harry had yet to meet another person with the same preferences, he felt strangely protective of the unknown individuals, as if their quirks made them a sort of kin. 

“I hope this experience makes you realize,” Draco said evenly, not looking away from the page, “That if people whisper behind your back, the things they’ll do, if I come out to Hogwarts, will be much worse.”

“Yes, I have realized that,” Harry said modestly, and a moment later, “ _When_ you come out to them.”

Draco’s eyes slid down to meet Harry’s. “Pardon?”

“When not if. You told me,” Harry reminded him, “That you’d one day kiss me in the Three Broomsticks.”

“Well, I didn’t say that’d be during school, did I?” Draco said, smirking.

Harry tutted. “Prat.”

“Mm.” Draco’s gaze had returned to his book, a slim, green-jacketed volume. His left hand drifted downwards, and his fingers wove themselves through Harry’s raven locks, casually, as if he’d been doing it for years. 

Harry started to open his mouth to ask what Draco was doing, but it was crystal clear what he was doing: playing with his hair. His fingers moved with exceeding gentleness, twirling and stroking almost absentmindedly. Draco hadn’t looked up from his book. Harry closed his eyes to the pleasant sensation, smiling - and he knew that even as he was blinded by the sunlight glowing against his eyelids, his boyfriend smiled, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I consider this to be another transition chapter, but emotionally instead of physically. Also, for the italicized bit in the first scene, the story and verbatim dialogue belongs to JKR, not me - that scene was from the Sorcerer's/Philosopher's Stone.


	29. Uncertain Future

The sound of ripping paper punctuated the Monday morning quiet as Ron opened his present from Harry. He grinned at the sight of the white box, filled with identically shaped, puffy, golden pastries.

“Mate, you didn’t!” Ron said with delight, examining the package of Creature Creams.

“Came in last night,” Harry told him, smiling. “George’s mail-order system operates with the speed of light, honestly…”

“Doesn’t it?” Hermione said appreciatively. “Here, Ron,” She said, handing him her gift, “Lee said these aren’t even on the shelves yet.”

Ron opened the package eagerly, his grin growing even wider. “‘Mystical Mind-Strengthening Potion,’” He read the label aloud, “‘Sharpens the most easily-distracted of minds,’ Hermione, this is brilliant!”

“Don’t use it on exams,” Hermione said sternly, but she softened when Ron kissed her on the cheek.

“Thanks, you two,” Ron said, stacking the boxes, “Nearly thought you’d forgotten.”

“Ah, now you’re being thick on purpose, Ron,” Harry teased. “‘Course we wouldn’t forget.”

“Honestly, I wasn’t expecting presents…” Ron trailed off, his smile shrinking slightly as he spotted someone emerging from the boys’ dormitory.

Draco hovered by the couch his boyfriend sat in, unsure whether his presence was intrusive or not. “Good morning,” He said neutrally, and the trio responded with equal politeness. “Someone’s birthday?” He asked, eyes lingering on the torn wrappings.

“Mine,” Ron replied.

“I didn’t know. I would’ve given you something.”

“Oh, er…that’s alright,” Ron said awkwardly - even after a couple months of being tentative friends, he and Draco hadn’t gotten comfortable with one another yet.

“Breakfast?” Hermione suggested, vanishing the wrapping paper with a wave of her wand. The three young men murmured their assent, and the four students left for the Great Hall.

A fine mist descended upon the castle that morning, cloaking the windows and enchanted ceiling with light gray. The morning was still young; the tables had only been filled about a quarter, and the owl post had not yet arrived. Hermione, Ron, Harry, and Draco sat in a loose bunch at the Gryffindor table, helping themselves to still-steaming porridge, kippers, toast, bacon, and eggs. As usual, Draco threw a furtive glance around, but the surrounding students were either too tired or too immersed in their own conversations to notice that a Malfoy was sitting with the Golden Trio. And yet he kept a meter of space between himself and Harry, lest anyone mistake their relationship for more than acquainted classmates.

Harry noticed this deliberate distance and frowned, but didn’t dare start an argument. He understood the stakes, which had been raised significantly after his coming out. Though no one was likely to comment at eight in the morning on a Monday, Harry knew the stares and whispers would rise with the day’s progression.

“We’ve got career meetings today,” Hermione informed her classmates as she poured milk into her porridge. “They’ll take the place of first period, but it’s with our head of house, so we’re with Professor Dahlia anyway. And you with Slughorn,” She added for Draco’s benefit, and he nodded as he buttered his toast.

“Won’t the classes be too small, then?” Harry asked after a sip of pumpkin juice.

Hermione rolled her eyes exasperatedly. “Didn’t you read the notice?”

“No,” Harry and Ron said in unison. “We’ve got you to keep us informed,” Ron pointed out, “You always know what’s going on.”

“You would, too, if you read the notices,” Hermione sighed, but continued, “We’re with seventh years as well, with Ginny and the others. They’re graduating with us this year, you know.”

“Good thing we’ve got Dahlia,” Harry remarked, “Since she used to be an Auror.”

“I forgot about that,” Ron said, talking expertly around a heaping mouthful of bacon - Draco looked both disgusted and impressed at this - “She’ll know all the different departments.”

“There are different departments?”

“Oh, yeah, haven’t I mentioned? Dad told me, but he doesn’t know all of them or the details of what they do. I expect we can ask. Hermione, are you going to be an Auror, too?”

Hermione stirred her porridge thoughtfully. “I’ve thought about it…” She said slowly, “I’m decent at combat…”

“You’re brilliant,” Harry and Ron spoke at the same time again, making Hermione laugh.

“Thanks. But I don’t think I’d like being in the thick of it for a career. Probably something in the similar, though. I still want to help people.”

“Damage Control,” Draco suggested suddenly, and the trio all turned to look at him. Draco continued, “It’s part of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. They usually clean up after Aurors - not tending to the wounded, but Obliviating surrounding Muggles, restoring any battle areas to their original state.”

“I am quite good with Memory Charms,” Hermione mused. “I’ll ask about that. Thank you, Draco,” She added, pleasantly surprised at his good advice.

“How do you know so much about that?” Ron asked curiously.

“Oh…I thought that might be a path I’d follow, someday,” Draco said, self-conscious that he’d revealed a former aspiration. “Before…you know…”

“Voldemort,” Harry finished, and Draco shuddered. “You could still do it,” Harry continued quickly, glossing over the tense moment.

“I don’t think I’m interested in that particular line of work anymore,” Draco said with a shrug. “Besides, I don’t know if I’ll even…” He trailed off, and Harry knew he was thinking of Azkaban. Ron looked curiously at Draco and opened his mouth to ask another question.

An interruption swooped over them in the form of a flock of owls. A small, tawny one landed in front of Hermione. The _Daily Prophet_ was clutched in its beak, and a collection pouch tied around one ankle. Hermione retrieved a couple Knuts from her robes, dropped them into the pouch, and took the newspaper. She scanned it and prepared to toss it upon the table, then gave a sharp gasp.

“Blimey, Hermione!” Ron yelped. “I thought someone died, _did_ someone…?”

“No one,” Hermione said, eyes wide, “But look.” She spread the paper onto the table for everyone to see. All four students leaned in.

**Suspected Collaboration Between Death Eaters and Thai Vigilante Group** proclaimed the headline. Beneath it was a picture of a wolfish mask, carved with detailed fur, fangs, and curvy patterns reminiscent of ancient Buddhist statues. One side of the disguise was slightly charred, and as they watched, it was turned and presented from all sides by a dark, beringed hand that Harry knew to be Kingsley’s.

Draco and Harry exchanged a look as Ron and Hermione examined the mask. “Looks like the ones we saw on the train,” Ron said, perturbed. “Read it, please, Hermione?”

Hermione nodded and read the article aloud to them.

**Since the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the wizarding world has enjoyed a period of peace, _writes Isabelle Villareal._ However, mid-October saw an attack on Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, considered to be an impenetrable haven after the demise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Three wizards or witches, wearing masks similar to the one shown, penetrated the school’s outer defenses and dueled three professors. Headmistress Minerva McGonagall reported no casualties nor injuries, though the three attackers fled and were unable to be apprehended. **

**The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts, Dahlia Balengchit, was able to discern certain aspects of the attackers’ identity. “They were wearing red robes, as is customary for southeastern Asian wizards,” Balengchit reported. “They spoke Thai to each other before Disapparating. From that and the design of the masks, we can conclude that they are from Thailand.”**

**Thailand’s Ministry of Magic, however, remained unhelpful in investigating the attack. “We don’t know who they are either, and they didn’t do any damage, so what’s the fuss?” said Anuman Wongsa, the spokesperson for the Thai Minister for Magic.**

**His sentiment was echoed by many Ministry officials here in Britain, who did not expect the obscure group to appear again. However, en route to King’s Cross Station on Saturday, 19 th December, the Hogwarts Express was stopped and apprehended by three more masked wizards of the same nature. Inside sources can confirm that the attackers obscured their presence with a mass Memory Charm; they revealed themselves only to Harry Potter and five other accompanying eighth years. **

**The intentions of the group did not become apparent until a week later. Two anonymous witnesses discovered the mask pictured above at Malfoy Manor, known headquarters of the Death Eaters during the Second Wizarding War.**

Harry caught Draco’s eye. He shook his head by a fraction of a degree, and Harry took his expression to mean: _Let her finish._

**The witnesses notified the Ministry of the evidence. The Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, sent a team of Aurors throughout the country to search for more signs of the Thai group. The following months of investigation found more signs of their presence scattered about the UK but did not find the wizards themselves. They concluded the group had perhaps returned to their own country and/or gone into hiding.**

**The capture of Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, known Death Eaters, provided more clues for the intentions of the Thai group.**

Hermione glanced up at Draco while she read this, but his face remained stoically blank.

**Though both were injured grievously after an attack on their home, an administration of Veritaserum revealed that the group, self-named The Following, approached the Malfoys with intentions of teaming up with the Death Eaters. The Malfoys resisted, but they were unable to learn the plans of The Following.**

**Shacklebolt remains hopeful that, through further exploration and international cooperation, the Ministry will learn the whereabouts and purpose of the vigilante group. “We will keep the wizarding world informed of this new possible threat,” Shacklebolt stated yesterday. “Misinformation from the Ministry contributed to the last war. Rest assured that we will not make the same mistake again. We will keep the public updated as much as possible.”**

Hermione lay the newspaper down. She and Ron wore thoughtful expressions. “They resisted?” Draco asked quietly. “But…when I was there, they were cooperating.” He spoke mostly to Harry, who looked just as bewildered.

“What do you mean, when you were there?” Ron questioned. Draco hesitated to answer.

“They should know,” Harry told him.

Draco pursed his lips and nodded. “I left for a few days before the first attack on the school,” He began. “Because of a letter I received from my mother.” Draco recounted everything that had happened since that day, Harry interjecting when they got to their joint investigation at Malfoy Manor. Draco left out a few details, such as Lucius calling him a homophobic slur - Harry noticed this, but he did nothing to mention it.

By the time Draco had finished, the Great Hall had been filled, and the food cooled. The mist outside had dissipated somewhat, and morning rays of sunshine streamed into the castle. Other students at the Gryffindor table glanced at the lone Slytherin within their midst, but no one dared to approach.

Hermione and Ron kept rapt attention throughout Draco’s story. When he finished, they took a minute to process it all, eyes cast towards the table in thought.

“Why didn’t you tell us right away?” Ron asked Harry, a bit hurt.

The real reason, Harry felt, was that he didn’t want Ron and Hermione to know he’d gone on a concealed escapade with Draco. But admitting that was only one step away from revealing what else they’d gotten up to at the Burrow.

“I didn’t know if I could trust you to keep a secret,” Draco said, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief - that excuse made much more sense coming from Malfoy. “I didn’t really want Potter to get involved, but you know him and his heroics.” Hermione and Ron smirked knowingly. “Neither of us knew what was going on. We were too scared to tell anyone unless they could do something about it.”

“Makes sense,” Hermione said, and Harry saw Draco’s shoulders lose their tension. “Can’t really blame you.”

Harry glanced down at his dented watch as the people around them finished their breakfasts, shouldered their schoolbags, and stood from the table. “Ten minutes, we’d better get a move on.”

Hermione folded the _Prophet_ and slid it into her bag as Ron managed a couple more mouthfuls. The four of them stood from the table, Ron casually linking hands with Hermione. Harry saw Draco’s gaze flit towards them, eyes filled with what was undoubtedly envy. But he kept a calculated distance from his own boyfriend, watching him with no more affection than he would a classmate.

The precautions were necessary; Harry understood that. But he couldn’t help but feel a stab of regret as Draco parted from them to go to the dungeons, without so much as a friendly wave.

• • •

The bell had hardly struck nine when Professor Dahlia entered her classroom. The seventh and eighth year Gryffindors chattered with each other as usual, but the conversation died down when they saw the look on their teacher’s face. Dahlia, normally easygoing and jovial, walked sharply to the front of the room, not stopping to say hello to any of her individual students. Her brown eyes stormed with worry and anger. 

“Settle down,” She said evenly, brushing her short hair from her eyes - today, it was streaked with magenta, the precise shade of the blouse worn beneath her black robes. Though Dahlia spoke quietly, there was something dangerous in her tone that made the class fall silent immediately. Harry exchanged a glance with Hermione and Ron. Something was definitely off. 

Then, as if pulling herself together, Professor Dahlia briefly shut her eyes, took a deep breath, and straightened her shoulders. When she opened them again, she smiled, and the class relaxed. “I’ll be talking with you one on one today,” Dahlia told them. “Chat among yourselves if you’d like, but keep your voices down, or I’ll take away House points.” She scrunched her face in an expression of distaste towards the idea. “Okay…” Dahlia looked around the room, picking someone at random. “Dean Thomas, we’ll start with you.” 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione joined Ginny and a couple of her classmates in idle chitchat as the students were called away to Professor Dahlia’s desk for five- to ten-minute-long sessions. As he discussed Quidditch with the others, Harry glanced over to their teacher once in a while, but the darkness that seemed to cloud her vision earlier did not make a reappearance.

One after another, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny left and returned, each glowing with the prospect of the future. The rest of the class seemed excited, too, their voices buzzing with post-school plans, and twice Dahlia had to tell them to be quiet. Finally, she called, “Harry Potter.”

The voices hushed ever so slightly. The seventh years, in particular, looked up from their conversations to watch Harry as he made his way to the front of the classroom. He thought he caught his name, echoed in their whispers, but he did his best to ignore it. 

“You want to be an Auror,” said Professor Dahlia as soon as Harry sat before her. It was a statement, not a question, and he nodded for confirmation. “There are lots of people wanting to be Aurors this year,” She continued conversationally. “Minerva said the same influx happened around twenty years ago when You-Know-Who rose to power.” Dahlia retrieved a file from a pile on the desk and flipped through it. Clipped to the corner was a portrait of Harry, taken in sixth year. The boy in the photo gave a forced smile for a moment, but his face fell immediately, eyes troubled with his uncertain future. Harry watched his younger self as Professor Dahlia looked over his latest transcripts. 

“Grades look good. Remind me what you’re taking this year?”

“Defense, Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, and Herbology.”

“Herbology? Not required for the Academy, but it’s appreciated all the same,” As Dahlia spoke, she sifted through a pile of pamphlets and handed Harry a white, maroon-titled one. “As you know, you won’t be taking N.E.W.T.s this year - they won’t require it. But your end-of-term paper will be looked at more closely as a result.”

The front of the pamphlet read **Cambridge Auror Academy** at the top, with the subtext **Spes Perit in Tenebris**. Before Harry could open it, Dahlia handed him another leaflet, this one charcoal-gray, and embossed with the Ministry of Magic insignia. 

“Read through those when you get the chance,” Dahlia told him. “Try to pick a department you want to work in before our next career session in four weeks. Your application will go faster if you know exactly what courses you’ll be taking.” 

“Right.” Harry’s blood rushed in his ears as he looked at the two pamphlets. The future, adulthood - it was all right in front of him. A year ago, all he focused on was defeating Voldemort and never gave a second thought to what would happen next. Now, it was a little easier to imagine. Three years of hard training, fifteen or so years of fighting Dark wizards - then what? Retire to a cottage in Wales to live by himself? Fade into the workings of the Ministry? Start a family? Harry’s mind conjured Draco, then abruptly pushed the thought away. _Crazy,_ Harry told himself. “Professor, what was your time as an Auror like?” 

Dahlia smiled, and for a moment, she appeared almost as young as her students. “Finally, someone’s asking for the four-one-one,” She said, and before Harry could ask her what that meant, continued, “It was wild and exhilarating sometimes, but also terrifying and exhausting. Even after such an extensive education, once you get into the real world, you realize just how despicable people can be. How far some will go to get what they want. But you, as an Auror, have to go even farther to stop them. It’s a hard job, Harry,” Dahlia emphasized. “Not for the faint of heart. You won’t always get credit for your efforts, either. But at the end of the day, you save thousands of lives and get dangerous people behind bars. And that makes it worth it.”

Harry nodded, a little taken aback. Professor Dahlia chuckled at her student’s apprehension. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Those thirteen years I spent with my colleagues in the International Crimes division were some of the most rewarding years in my life. But it takes moral fiber, a willingness to learn, and knowing when sacrifice is necessary to handle it. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, Professor.” Harry stood from the desk, slipping the pamphlets into his robe. 

“There are lot of people wanting to be Aurors this year,” Dahlia reiterated. “But not all of them will have the guts to follow through. What about you, Harry Potter? Do you think you can follow through?” 

“Yes, Professor,” Harry repeated. _At least I hope so._

“Alright, you can go,” She said cheerily, and Harry left. The bell clanged a few moments later, signaling the end of the first period. The Gryffindors gathered their things and began to exit the classroom. Ginny and Hermione said their goodbyes to their friends and left for class, while Ron mentioned something about the library.

Harry made a statement of agreement; perhaps Draco would be there. But before he followed Ron through the doorway, Harry hesitated. He peered over his shoulder at Professor Dahlia, who was shuffling the students’ files. She kept her head firmly bowed, so Harry couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw her hand flit towards her face as if wiping away a tear. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter begins to set the stage for the next part of the ABYS saga - that may not be written for a while yet! Though Harry and the rest are still at Hogwarts, I couldn't resist a little indirect worldbuilding for wizarding England. Also, that was the first time I wrote out a Daily Prophet article :)


	30. No Matter What Happens

The whispers refused to cease. Every time Harry walked into a classroom, studied in the library, or went anywhere with other students, he heard them talking. Their speculations, abuse, and surreptitious catcalling hung over Harry like a storm cloud. He did his best to ignore it; and he should be glad, he told himself, that he was the Chosen One. The fact that Harry had saved the wizarding world seemed to stop most people from outright insulting him.

But one Thursday afternoon, as the Quidditch team headed for the changing rooms after practice, he realized that he might not be the only one under scrutiny.

“…be bisexual?” Someone’s voice drifted over, and Harry glanced over to the speakers. Eleanor Hicks, a fourth-year Chaser, and her classmate Willow Amara, a Beater, had their heads close together as they whispered. Harry caught only a few more words, “…so sure…had a girlfriend…” Frowning, Harry entered the boys’ changing room before he could hear any more. He unlaced his Quidditch robes with more fierceness than usual, feeling Danny Cliffe’s and Richie Coote’s eyes on the back of his neck.

Ginny approached him once the team had exited the changing rooms. Brooms in hand, the athletes headed for the castle in the fading twilight, but Ginny stopped Harry with a firm hand and waited for the rest of the team to leave eavesdropping range.

“I overheard something interesting just now,” She said casually.

“Did you?” Harry’s left shoulder was particularly sore from flying; he tried to massage it with one hand.

“Some girls have been getting antsy ever since you came out,” Ginny continued. “They think you did it for attention since you’ve never been seen with a boy.”

“That’s stupid.” Harry sighed and tilted his head, trying to stretch out the knot that had formed in his shoulder.

“It’s stupid as hell,” She agreed, “But it might look like you’re trying to find your way into the spotlight again.”

“I’m _not_ -”

“I know you’re not, but not everyone knows you like I do, do they?” Ginny interjected. “Anyway…these girls are trying to figure out what boy you like, if there is one. They want to scope out the competition.”

Harry swallowed. He felt cold all of a sudden, as if his blood had been imbibed with the March breeze.

“Some people are watching you, and your friends, very closely,” Ginny concluded ominously. “I don’t suppose Draco is ready to go public yet?”

“Not since the last time I asked him about it.” Harry figured it was probably time to broach the topic with his boyfriend again. The idea caused his shoulder to grow even tenser, and he kneaded it frustratedly. 

Ginny noticed this and walked closer to him. “Let me,” She said, pressing her thumbs into the sore muscle. Their pace slowed as Ginny massaged Harry’s shoulder.

Harry relaxed under her touch. “Thanks, Gin.”

“Mhm.” Ginny smelled of blossoms and sweat - similar to Draco, Harry realized, and he figured he must have a type. For a fleeting moment, Harry wondered if she still had feelings for him, even if she didn’t realize it. But Ginny’s touch held no sensuality; she was only helping out a friend. Perhaps last summer, Harry would have found this disappointing, but it pleased him to find that he didn’t care anymore.

The pair parted in the castle’s main hall, Ginny’s warm hand slipping from Harry and waving as they said goodbye. Harry headed for the dungeons, his shoulder aching much less.

The Slytherin common room was scattered with about a dozen students, either studying or talking near the fire. Sunbeams filtered through the green water, painting the picture windows with faint stripes. Draco, Harry was unsurprised to see, had his head bent over a Herbology essay and a textbook. He sat by himself, no one in the room paying him attention. Trying to act as inconspicuous as possible, Harry sidled next to him and bent down slightly.

“We need to talk,” He muttered, but already a couple of Slytherin girls were shooting him suspicious glances. Harry bit back a curse. Why must everyone be so nosy?

Draco looked up when Harry spoke, and he seemed to notice the stray gazes. “Shove off, Potter,” He said, loud enough for the surrounding students to hear, “I’m trying to work.” Draco’s sneer was very convincing, but Harry saw his silver eyes flit towards the boys’ dormitory.

Harry made a show of rolling his eyes. “I hope you fail,” He shot back and marched off to the dorms, broom in hand.

A warm glow emitted from the furnace in the center of the room, casting fuzzy shadows on the green-cracked, rocky walls. All seven beds lay empty, Harry observed with relief. His uniform, thrown on right after Quidditch practice, was starting to smell, so he rummaged about in his trunk for a clean set.

Harry was doing his tie when Draco entered, schoolbag slung over his shoulder. “‘I hope you fail?’” He repeated with contempt. “Really, Potter. Twelve-year-old you could’ve come up with something better.”

“It was off the top of my head.”

“Apparently.” Draco frowned as he watched Harry fiddle with his tie. “What are you doing?”

“Tying my tie, what does it look like I’m doing?”

“Not like that, you’re not,” Draco said. He reached forward and tugged Harry gently into the firelight. His pale hands moved quickly as they looped the fabric into a neater shape.

“You’re choking me,” Harry complained, and Draco tutted, but he slightly loosened the collar.

“There.” Draco’s hands fell to Harry’s chest.

“Thanks.” Harry tilted his head upwards and kissed Draco, who hummed in pleasure as he reciprocated.

“Wait, not in the open,” Draco muttered as he pulled away. “Here…” He sat down on Harry’s bed, its inhabitant following suit. With a flick of his wand, Draco caused the hangings to draw themselves tightly around the bed. Another incantation and an orb of light floated above their heads, basking their faces in gold.

“ _Muffliato_ ,” Harry intoned, casting the Silencing Charm around them.

“So?” Draco arranged his long legs into a crisscrossed position. “What did you want to talk about?”

Harry told his boyfriend what Ginny had heard. Draco’s brows knitted together, and his face sank into his hand as he listened.

“We need to be more careful,” He surmised once Harry had finished. “You think we can’t even talk without people jumping to conclusions?”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a heavy sigh, “You saw how nosy they’re getting,” He added, indicating the common room with a jerk of the head.

“I wish my boyfriend weren’t so famous. Kidding,” Draco said quickly when Harry bristled. “Sore subject?”

“You could say that.”

Draco pursed his lips. “Sorry I brought it up.”

“‘S fine,” Harry muttered. “Anyway…does that mean you’re not ready to come out yet?”

“No, but soon,” Draco assured him. “I think. I hope.”

Harry reached forward and took Draco’s hands, wishing fervently he could do the same thing in public. As if he could read the Harry’s thoughts, Draco smiled wistfully, leaning towards him. But before their lips could meet, the sound of the door opening echoed through the dormitory.

“Harry?” Said a familiar voice, and the couple froze. Draco met his boyfriend’s eyes fearfully.

“ _Accio Cloak_ ,” Harry said under his breath, thinking fast. The diaphanous fabric shot towards him from the trunk at the foot of the bed, making the ends of the green curtains flutter. Harry caught the Invisibility Cloak and draped it over Draco as the blond extinguished the floating light and removed the Silencing Charm. 

A second later, Ron’s freckled face peered through a gap he’d opened in the hangings. “You alright, Harry?”

“Hey, Ron,” Harry said casually, though adrenaline zoomed through his veins. “Yeah, I’m fine. Yep. Must’ve, er, fallen asleep. Ginny pushed us hard today.”

“Oh.” Ron nodded. “Well, Hermione wanted to know if you wanted to work on the Herbology essay together. And I can ask Malfoy to join us, if he wants to. Unless you want to go to sleep now?”

“No, it’s okay,” Harry said quickly. “It was an accident.”

“Ah. Hey, did you see anything moving near your trunk?” Ron asked. A few inches away, Harry felt Draco shift slightly. He prayed the light coming through the small gap wasn’t enough to reveal the person-shaped impression on the bed.

“That was my…” Harry flapped his hand about vaguely. “Glasses! Those were my glasses. I used my Summoning Charm to get them. Er, _a_ Summoning Charm.”

“Don’t you usually put your glasses on the nightstand?” Ron said, puzzled.

“Must’ve dropped them in my trunk, I guess.” Harry’s palms felt awfully sweaty. “I was really, really tired when I came in.”

“Alright. Well, when you come out, Hermione can shock you with her wand. It’s a spell she uses to wake me up sometimes, it doesn’t hurt,” Ron added at Harry’s startled expression. “Okay, see you in a mo.”

“Uh-huh.”

Ron vanished from the curtains, casting Harry into darkness. Draco waited until he heard the door close before throwing the hangings aside and removing the Invisibility Cloak.

Draco’s face was ashen in the half-light. “I hate sneaking around,” He said bitterly.

“Well, you’re not done yet,” Harry muttered. “It’d look too suspicious if you came out of the dorms with me. Keep that,” He told Draco, nodding at the enchanted garment. “Follow me out the door, slip into the hallway, and come back inside. Say you’ve been at the library or something.”

Draco eyed Harry appraisingly. “You’ve done your fair share of sneaking; I’d nearly forgotten. Are you sure you’re not supposed to be in Slytherin?”

“Er…” Harry grinned sheepishly. “That’s a story for later.”

“Wait, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Under the Cloak, Malfoy.” Draco rolled his eyes but did as he was told.

• • •

A thick fog descended upon Hogwarts castle Tuesday night and persisted throughout the next day, clinging to the grounds like a stubborn child. As soon as the eighth years stepped outside for Herbology, the moisture dampened their robes. Hermione’s frizzy mane puffed out to twice its size, making Pansy snicker, but Hermione calmly began to plait her hair, so it stayed out of her face. Harry’s own hair actually stayed somewhat flat in the wetness, which he found rather astounding. 

“I can barely see the greenhouses,” Ron remarked, squinting through the cloudy air. “Which one are we in, five?”

“Yes,” Hermione confirmed. “We’ll follow the voices, I suppose.”

And follow the voices they did, the chatter that grew louder and louder as they approached the greenhouses. The glass walls, obscured by the mist, appeared suddenly, and the trio bumped into it more than once. Feeling their way down the row of greenhouses, the students finally made it inside the glass, where the humidity was just as prevalent. 

“I can see some of us are going to be tardy,” Professor Sprout said with a sigh as she looked at her half-empty class. “For future reference, children, the incantation _Chiara_ helps clear a path through a fog.” 

A few minutes passed as Sprout waited for the rest of her class to arrive. A large, long box stood in the middle of the greenhouse, filled to the brim with blackish-brown loam. There weren’t any plants poking through it, though Harry could see the surface moving as if thick worms were crawling beneath it. 

Draco was one of the last students to arrive. He met Harry’s eyes briefly from across the greenhouse and came a bit closer but remained firmly on the other side of the humongous planter. 

“Wonderful, everyone’s present,” Professor Sprout said as Owen, a Hufflepuff, sidled into the room bashfully. “Now, today we’ll be looking at-”

“Excuse me, Pomona,” Came a voice at the door. Professor McGonagall stood in the greenhouse’s entryway, hands clasped apologetically at the waist of her burgundy robes. “If I could have a word with Malfoy? Please continue the class in his absence, it may take a moment.”

“Ah…” Sprout, unaccustomed to having her class interrupted, looked at Draco, whose eyes were narrowed in confusion. “Of course, Headmistress,” Replied Professor Sprout, getting over her surprise quickly. 

“Malfoy,” McGonagall said sternly, and Draco left his place at the planter - Harry saw him visibly swallow in apprehension. 

“As I was saying,” Professor Sprout continued, “Welsh Burrowing Roots are not usually visible aboveground…”

Harry squinted through the glass at two fuzzy shapes he assumed to be McGonagall and Draco, but the fog made it nigh impossible to discern their hands, let alone their mouths. A breeze began to push through the mist - Harry could see it moving - but there was simply too much of it. He was deciding whether to leave under the guise of going to the loo when Professor Sprout called his name. 

“Potter, you seem fascinated with the outdoors,” Sprout said dryly, making Pansy giggle. “Could you tell us what potion Burrowing Roots are used in?” 

“Um…” Harry peered down the row of students, pretending to watch the teacher, but his eyes slid over to Hermione. Surreptitiously, she rolled her head in a slow circle and went cross-eyed, miming the potion’s effects. “Dizziness…Er, Dizziness Draught?” 

It was a total guess, but to his surprise, Sprout smiled and nodded. “Ten points to Gryffindor.” Harry mouthed a silent _thank you_ to Hermione, who made a flippant hand gesture which Harry took to mean, _no problem._

“I daresay Professor Slughorn will teach you that particular concoction later this year,” Professor Sprout continued. “Who can tell me the exact properties of the Root’s essence that make it perfect for the Dizziness Draught? Yes, Granger?” 

Hermione had racked up fifteen more points for Gryffindor, and the class’s gloved hands were searching in the dark soil by the time Draco returned. He appeared drawn, but he wore a small smile of relief. 

“What-” Harry muttered, but Draco cut him off with a sharp shake of his head. His mouth silently formed the words, _Tell you later._

“Laurent, would you show Malfoy how to extract the essence?” Professor Sprout asked. Gavin’s soft features wrinkled in reluctance, but he obligingly demonstrated. Plunging a hand into the dirt, he grasped a length of squirming root, made an incision with a copper dagger, and began to squeeze the lime-colored juices into a nearby clay bowl. 

The rest of the period would have been a perfect time to talk with Draco if they hadn’t been part of the chaos along with their classmates. As it turned out, Welsh Burrowing Roots had a nasty habit of lashing out with their thin ends at anyone who came close. The students had to work together, holding the various extensions of the plant, so the cutter didn’t get slapped. Still, the faces of Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Draco were covered in thin red marks and splatters of dirt by the time the bell rang. 

The fog had thinned out somewhat, but gray clouds signaling a coming rainstorm gathered in the heavens. Harry could at least see the castle ahead, a dark, blurry form. He longed to call for Draco to join him and the others as they walked, but he trusted him to approach Harry when he was ready. 

• • •

Rain poured down upon the castle at nightfall, but the students in the Slytherin common room only heard a muted drizzling as the drops hit the lake. The weather did not disturb the sounds inside, the scratching of quills, the crackling torches, and whispering. 

Harry and Draco sat far apart from each other, both filling out answers to Potions questions. Harry could barely concentrate, glancing up restlessly from his parchment every few seconds to check if the pair of fifth-years had gone yet. The two Slytherins sat on a leather couch, the girl in her lover’s lap as they talked and giggled quietly, utterly oblivious to the other two students. 

  1. **Describe the physical characteristics of dragon saliva when mixed with a) moonstone powder b) Wincing Wisteria nectar c) hinkypunk blood.**



Harry sighed heavily and flipped through _Ingredients for the Advanced Potioneer: Companion to Recipes for the Advanced Potioneer_ for the answers _._ He told himself firmly to finish this question before looking up. As the fifth-year boy made kissy noises at his girlfriend, Harry thumbed resolutely through the glossary. 

Finally, he punctuated his last detailed sentence with a blot of ink and looked up. The couple had gone. A few feet away, Draco closed his textbook, slipped it into his bag, and quietly walked over to Harry. 

Draco sat next to his boyfriend and cut to the chase. “McGonagall said I can see my parents this weekend. I’m leaving for St. Mungo’s early on Saturday by Portkey.” 

“That’s great!” Harry said happily, but his smile faded when he noticed the worried look on Draco’s face. “Isn’t it?”

Draco hesitated before answering. “I’d like to see Mother,” He admitted, “But it’s the first time I’ll see Lucius since he…disowned me.” His mouth twitched as if he was deciding whether to smile or cry. 

Harry placed a warm hand on Draco’s folded ones. “You won’t let him bully you,” Harry said fiercely. “You’ve come a long way.”

Draco chuckled dryly. “Maybe so.” He lifted Harry’s hand to his lips. “Potter…there’s something else I want to ask of you,” He said, bringing their now-entwined hands back to the table. “And I know I’m a coward for asking, but…” _You’re no coward,_ Harry wanted to shout, but he let him finish. “When I’m away, can you tell Weasley and Granger we’re dating? I know I should take responsibility, too, but maybe you can ease them into the idea. And I’ll face them when I get back, whatever their reactions might be.” 

Harry thought about it for a moment, watching the reflected flickers of green flame dance on the polished tabletop. He’d always imagined him and Draco announcing their relationship together, but Draco was right. Ron and Hermione would likely take the news much worse if the Slytherin himself remained physically by his side. Harry couldn’t be positive, but he suspected his friends still held unconscious grudges against Draco Malfoy that would surface once he told them that their former bully was now his boyfriend. 

“I’ll tell them.”

Draco held Harry’s hands even tighter. “Thank you.”

“I honestly don’t know what Ron and Hermione’s reactions will be. Worst case scenario, they’ll force me to choose between you and them.” The same question lingered in both pairs of eyes, but Harry decided not to answer it just then. “Malfoy...Draco, I want you to know, no matter what happens, I don’t regret being with you. These past few months have been, well…kind of bizarre. But wonderful, too. And I hope this doesn’t end for a long time yet.”

“You’re so optimistic.” Draco’s silver eyes were misty. “How can you be so optimistic?”

But it wasn’t optimism that made Harry shoulder the responsibility by himself. It wasn’t optimism that kept his hands holding Draco’s, knowing it helped him calm down. It wasn’t optimism that caused Harry to believe that he’d fight for both Draco’s acceptance and his friends’ approval. 

“Draco,” Harry whispered, soft as snow, “Draco, I…” Even now, he couldn’t say it, for fear of somehow jinxing their relationship. Instead, he let his actions speak for him.

Their lips brushed gently at first as if they were afraid the other would disappear. But before long, Harry’s hands were all over Draco, running through his silky hair, sliding up his thigh, tugging at his collar, at his nape, pulling him closer. Harry felt Draco’s tongue mingling with his own, felt his teeth graze Harry’s bottom lip - it felt passionately sloppy to the point of scandal, but Harry didn’t care. He couldn’t get enough of Draco. He wanted to taste him, to feel every inch of bare skin beneath his fingertips. 

Eventually, the reality of the wide-open common room and the fact that their classmates were sleeping less than a hundred meters away jarred them back to the present. For a fleeting moment, Harry wanted to take Draco to his bed, cast _Muffliato_ , and then…what? In a perfect world, Harry would know precisely how to ravage Draco upon the emerald sheets, leaving them both gasping. But the fact remained that Harry was painfully virgin - he assumed Draco was, also - and barely knew what to do with a girl, let alone a boy. 

Reluctant as he was to admit it, even to himself, Harry knew that his hands shook at the idea of sex because of uneasiness more than lust. 

“Merlin, we’re as bad as those fifth-years,” Harry said, grinning. 

“Potter, don’t even _joke_ about that,” Draco groaned, but he bit back a smile when Harry bumped his nose playfully with his own. 

Somehow, not without a few more kisses, the couple parted at the doorway of the boys’ dormitory. The two young men dressed in relative darkness; the coals in the center of the room had nearly died out. Harry peeked at Draco a few beds over, admiring the curve of his pale shoulders as they gleamed in the firelight. 

Harry looked away quickly, his face warming. He set his glasses on the nightstand, climbed into bed, and tucked his wand beneath his pillow. But after a few minutes of tossing and turning, Harry found that the heat had seeped throughout his body, blood rushing between his legs. Though he’d pushed the thought of Draco’s half-naked figure from his mind, his body had not forgotten.

Cursing silently, Harry fumbled for his wand, cast a Silencing Charm, and slid a hand beneath his sheets. He’d done this many times before - he was a teenage boy, after all - but something felt different about tonight. Harry took great satisfaction in hoping that a few feet away, Draco had been seized with the same unchaste desire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drarry being sneaky is one of my favorite parts about writing fanfiction for this pairing. And Herbology is my favorite class to write about - there's just so much dirt and chaos! So I had a lot of fun with this chapter.   
> Also, this is probably a good time to mention that there will be more mentions of sex and non-graphic sexual activity going forward. Nothing that will warrant an Explicit rating, but I just wanted to make y'all aware.


	31. The Untold Truth

Words stood pale against Harry’s skin as he clenched his fist. He stared absentmindedly down at the scar, trying to calm his racing heart. In front of him, the Black Lake sparkled as if embedded with a million diamonds beneath the sun’s brilliance. The weather was gorgeous, mockingly so, but at the same time, Harry was grateful for it. His friends had been easily persuaded to join him by the shore for an afternoon of skipping stones, wading, and, in Hermione’s case, catching up on an educational book. 

Footsteps crunching on the gravelly sand made Harry look up and over his shoulder. Hermione and Ron, wearing Muggle clothes for the weekend, held each other’s hands as they approached. Their faces wore carefree, peaceful expressions. Harry wondered how long that would last. 

“Hiya,” Hermione smiled as she retrieved a thin, plaid blanket from her bag. With a wave of her wand, she caused the blanket to spread upon the ground, far enough from the lapping ripples of the lake. 

“Filched some cheese sandwiches for later,” Ron said conversationally as he joined Harry on the weathered log that had rolled from the small copse of trees nearby. 

Ron bent to unlace his trainers. Harry, already barefoot, silently rehearsed the speech he and Draco had come up with as he waited. He felt as if he was coming out again, with more at stake and a higher chance of rejection. 

“I reckon I can get over six this time,” Ron said, and Harry looked up from the pebbly ground to see that his friend was already calf-deep in the water, searching for flat rocks. “Want to join us?” Ron called to his girlfriend, but she shook her head.

“Maybe later,” Hermione replied, brushing her brown hair out of her face as she bent over her book. 

“What are you reading?” Harry asked as he edged into the water - its chilliness sent shivers up his spine.

“I’m teaching myself French,” Hermione answered. “I might as well learn a language with all this spare time.” 

“Naturally,” Ron said fondly. He handed Harry a couple of smooth, flat rocks. 

“Thanks,” Harry muttered, feeling the edges with his fingers before throwing them across the lake. Ron mimicked him, skipping stones, so they bounced four or five times on the surface. As they threw, Ron began to discuss Quidditch, asking his best friend about Gryffindor’s upcoming match with Hufflepuff the next week. Harry tossed out what he hoped were satisfactory answers, but in truth, he barely followed the conversation. He focused more on his own thoughts and the path of his stones. Each bounce elicited a slight splashing sound, and Harry found the rhythm strangely soothing as if he was listening to the clipped cadence of Draco’s speech. 

Harry’s insides squirmed, and he took a deep breath, willing himself to be patient. He’d bring up Draco later when his friends were happy, well-fed, and warm with sunshine. With a muted grunt, Harry threw the next rock as forcefully and precisely as he could. The stone leaped - one, two, three, four, five. 

_I must not tell lies._

Harry clenched his left fist, hating that its inscribed message would pop into his head now. It only served to remind him of his deceit towards his friends, hiding his relationship with Draco from them for so long. He realized, abruptly, that the untold truth may not matter to them as much as the act of secret-keeping itself. 

“Good one,” Ron commented and looked towards his best friend. “Mate, you all right? You’re white as a sheet. Well, whiter than usual,” He amended, as Harry’s brown skin couldn’t change to such a shade. 

“Like you’ve seen a ghost,” Hermione tried, then pursed her lips as she remembered that the Muggle saying didn’t apply inside a school where ghosts were friendly residents.

“I’m okay,” Harry said, but he sounded dishonest even to himself. “I’m just…tired. And cold.” As if on cue, the air rushed with a breeze, rustling the trees behind them and making the water ripple. 

“ _Asseyez-vous,_ then,” Hermione said, a bit clumsily, but she beamed at the attempt. Ron and Harry stared, not understanding. “I mean, sit down; I have tea.”

Tea sounded wonderful, Harry had to admit, and he and Ron joined Hermione on the blanket, the cuffs of their jeans dripping with water. Hermione slid her book away from the stray droplets before reaching inside her bag, pulling out a large thermos, three mugs, and a stack of sandwiches wrapped in tinfoil. 

For a few minutes, the trio munched away, drinking in both the spring sunshine and their warm beverages. Harry relaxed a little as his cold fingers absorbed the heat from the mug, and he breathed in the earthy, flowery scent of the tea.

“Hey,” Ron said presently, swallowing a bite of a cheese sandwich, “Where’s Malfoy? I haven’t seen him since class yesterday. I thought you might’ve invited him, too, Harry.” 

“Ah, well…” Harry hesitated, his hands trembling slightly. This was the opening he’d been waiting for. “Malfoy’s away. It’s got something to do with what McGonagall told him yesterday,” He said carefully, hoping his friends would assume that meant he didn’t know where Draco had gone. 

Luckily, Ron and Hermione nodded understandingly. Harry took a hasty gulp of tea, fortifying himself for what he needed to say next. “Speaking of which,” He continued, hoping he transitioned smoothly enough, “I have a bit of an announcement regarding Malfoy.” Harry’s words felt stiff and wooden. He took another sip of his drink and noticed - his heart skipped a beat - that Hermione wore an expression of apprehension as if she already knew what he was about to say. “He is my boyfriend. We, um, we’re dating.” 

There it was, out in the open. The truth lay naked and shivering right in front of Ron’s and Hermione’s eyes. Harry felt butterflies stirring in a frenzy within his stomach, and he squashed the sudden and nonsensical urge to grin. Ron’s hand, holding his sandwich, slowly lowered. Hermione swallowed. 

“Harry, could you say that again?” Hermione said timidly. A gust of wind caused her hair to partially obscure her face, but she didn’t move it out of the way. “I don’t understand.” 

“I’m dating Draco Malfoy,” Harry said clearly. A foreboding feeling curled in his chest, like a sleeping snake. “We’ve been together romantically since December. But we didn’t want to tell anyone. For obvious reasons.” 

The faint sloshing of the waves was all that broke the silence. Harry’s eyes flitted between his two friends, desperately trying to read their expressions. Ron’s face was scrunched up like there had been armadillo bile in his sandwich. Hermione looked as if she’d correctly predicted that the world was ending in two days. 

“Say something,” Harry pleaded. 

“You’re taking the mickey out of us,” Ron muttered, half to himself. “Tell me this isn’t real.” 

“I was afraid this would happen,” Hermione sighed, “Ever since that damn letter,” Harry flinched at this, Hermione rarely swore, “I thought he might be up to something. But this! This is despicable.”

“You think this was his plan all along?” Ron asked doubtfully; the pair seemed to be having a conversation that excluded Harry, who wasn’t sure which “he” they referred to. “Did he think he could pull it off from the beginning?” 

“Maybe; he’s got enough charisma and decent looks to think so if it was a girl he was dealing with. But I think he aimed for friendship and took more when he saw an opportunity.” 

“That sneaking little-”

“Hey!” Harry cut in, flushed with pique. He’d realized whom Hermione and Ron spoke of. “That’s my boyfriend you’re talking about.”

Hermione wore an expression of great pain. “Harry…I don’t think he’s your real boyfriend.” 

“What do you mean, he’s not my ‘real’ boyfriend?” Harry hissed, punctuating the question with fierce air quotes. Her tone, bordering on patronizing, made Harry’s fists clench. What made her the expert on their relationship? She hadn’t seen Harry remove Draco’s Dark Mark. She hadn’t been in the bathroom the first time Harry held Draco in his arms. She hadn’t seen Draco grip his hand as if holding a lifeline. “I know him a hell of a lot better than you two do!”

“So, you think you know Draco Malfoy?” Hermione asked skeptically. “You _truly_ know him?”

Harry wanted terribly to say yes, but the truth was, he couldn’t. He was familiar with the eighteen-year-old Draco, knew of his parents’ situation, and knew a few of his habits, hobbies, and pet peeves. But of the Death Eater Malfoy, who committed countless, nameless crimes, Harry knew virtually nothing. 

“That’s what I thought,” Hermione said scornfully, and it was the first time in years that Harry wanted to wipe the know-it-all look off her face. “He’s using you. He’s trying to turn you to his cause.”

Harry shook his head vehemently; little though he comprehended of Draco’s past, he knew Hermione’s statements were utterly false. “There is no _cause_ ,” He said firmly. “We’re just two people who like and care about each other - _what’s with that face?_ ” Harry practically shouted as Ron started to grimace. 

“You _like_ him? You _care_ about him?” Ron said disbelievingly as if Harry had said he enjoyed eating live slugs. 

“Yeah, so? I thought he was your friend, too!” 

“Well, more or less, but this is Malfoy we’re talking about, Harry! I only made an effort because he’s _your_ friend. Maybe it’s easy for you to forgive, but not me. He was awful to us, from the very start. Don’t act like you’ve forgotten.” 

Harry knew Ron made valid points, but he elected to ignore them. “Hermione,” Harry said beseechingly, turning to her, “I thought you and Draco were getting along.”

Hermione’s lips were pressed into a thin line until she spoke. “I did like him,” She admitted, “But he’s gone too far. I believed he was truly changing, but he’s only been trying to gain our trust. I never thought he’d stoop so low as to seduce you.”

“Seduce me?” Harry echoed. “ _Seduce_ me?” Anger reared its terrible head in his heart. How dare they? How dare they reduce Draco, _his_ Draco, to a conniving, single-minded tempter? “He’s not trying to get me on his side. There are no sides!” Harry stood, trembling with rage from head to foot. The rushing in his ears was not flowing blood - the very air itself whipped into gusts around him, but he didn’t realize. “Voldemort is dead! The Death Eaters are weakening, Draco has no reason to join them!”

“His dad’s still involved with the Death Eaters, though, isn’t he?” Ron had gotten to his feet as well, face hardening. With a jolt, Harry realized that the necklace beneath his shirt had grown warm, responding to Ron’s aggression. “And they might be gathering forces soon, with the what’ s-it-called. The Following.” 

“Didn’t you listen to what Draco told you earlier?” Harry shouted over the gusts. Hermione looked between them fearfully, hair flying wildly in Harry’s anger-fueled magic. “The Death Eaters tortured him! He won’t be going back to them.”

“How can you be so sure?” Ron replied with a very un-Ron-like sneer. “Malfoy’s a coward. He might go running to his daddy before you know it…”

“HE’S NOT A COWARD!” Harry bellowed, and Ron flinched. The magical gales blew in earnest now, surrounding the trio like a tornado and prompting Hermione to stuff their possessions back into her schoolbag with her wand. “When will you two realize that he’s not a Death Eater anymore? Stop living in the past! The war is over. It’s like you _want_ to keep fighting!”

A look of horror crossed Harry’s face as he realized what he’d said. The wind died down almost immediately, loose pebbles and nearby leaves settling back onto the ground. Hermione’s cheeks were streaked with tears, and Ron had gone pale. 

“Don’t ever say that,” Ron growled. Harry immediately felt overwhelmed with remorse; it poured into his throat like lava. Of course, none of them wanted to keep fighting. For months after the war, all three had been plagued with nightmares, filled with flying curses and their loved ones’ cold bodies. And they knew, somehow, that those nightmares would reappear again for years afterward, a constant reminder of all they had lost and been through. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry tried to say, but it came out rather harshly. Though his anger had subsided, he still felt upset at Ron and Hermione’s accusations. 

“Whatever,” Ron muttered. “I don’t care. Choose Malfoy, the git. He’s won you over with his many charms, I’m sure,” He said sarcastically. “I can’t believe you’d pick him over my sister.”

Harry clenched his jaw at the mention of Ginny. “She dumped _me_ , remember? Besides, I’m not a girl. She never wanted me in the first place.”

Both Ron and Hermione’s eyes grew wide with shock, and Harry quickly realized he probably should not have said that. “Ginny’s …lesbian?” Hermione murmured, and Harry nodded; no use in lying now. 

“She never told me.” Ron looked utterly betrayed. “Why’d she tell you and not me?” He shook his head, looking at the ground before meeting his best friend’s gaze. Harry saw that Ron’s blue eyes had filled with tears. “It’s like…I don’t even know you anymore.”

The warm rays of sunshine gently illuminated their faces. Harry could barely believe the scene had been so idyllic only minutes before. _Leave it to me to mess things up,_ He thought bitterly, and felt a stab of resentment towards Draco, for approaching him first, and towards himself, for falling for him. 

“Let’s go, Hermione,” Ron said quietly, taking his girlfriend’s hand. Hermione nodded, wiping her face, and she didn’t even bother to tug back the blanket before standing up. Ron Summoned his shoes, caught them in one hand, and didn’t look back at his best friend. The couple disappeared into the copse of trees, heading for the castle. 

Once they had gone, Harry collapsed to his knees. He looked across the lake, at the green hills, foggy mountains, the faraway trees, and saw nothing. His hands and feet were cold, but nothing felt so numb as his heart. Fear and guilt clawed icily up his throat. 

_What have I done? What have I done?_

Behind him, birds chirped gaily and fluttered through the trees. Harry bent over the ground and began to cry. 


	32. Crossroads

_The snake hissed in irritation, its sinuous body sliding silently over the wooden floor. Seventeen-year-old Draco Malfoy desperately wanted to move away from the beast - he’d seen its fangs sink into too many necks to count and had no desire to be its next victim. But a slit-eyed wizard stood nearby, and Draco could show no fear in front of him. The boy’s knees shook slightly, but his face remained inscrutable._

_Before him, a Mudblood cowered._

_Her pale, freckled face was cast towards the floor, stringy black hair hiding her eyes. A year ago, Draco would have jeered and spat at anyone with her tainted blood. But now, pity overshadowed the revulsion. He could no longer believe that Mudbloods were less than human. How could he, when the fear in their faces was the same in his heart? Not for the first time, Draco felt grateful towards Snape, who, despite being a slippery, indifferent man, had taught his protégé enough Occlumency to shield his mind from even the most accomplished Legilimens._

_“Please…” The girl whimpered. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen. “Please…” She begged for her life, her freedom, and her family, in one breath. But Draco knew she couldn’t have any of those things. It was far too late for her. For anybody._

_Draco raised his wand. “_ Crucio _.” The Mudblood’s body spasmed, and she let loose a chilling scream. Draco closed his eyes but showed no other outer reaction. The curse did not last long, and only a few moments later, the girl stopped screaming. Her breath came in ragged pants as she curled upon the floor._

_“Losing your nerve, are you?” The Dark Lord’s high voice echoed through the large living room._

_“No, my Lord.”_

_“I should hope not. Then perhaps,” And it was then the wizard stepped from the flickering shadows into the firelight, “You are eager to kill?”_

_Draco hesitated. “Yes, my Lord.”_

_A sharp agony suddenly bloomed across Draco’s ribs, and he gasped, bending over slightly. But he tried to regain his composure, molding his face back into an emotionless mask. The cut was not deep. He had suffered worse._

_“Do not lie to me, Draco,” The Dark Lord hissed. The boy’s name sounded vicious on his tongue. “But it is no matter. The Killing Curse is not a spell to be performed by the weak…you understand this, yes?”_

_“Yes, my Lord.”_

_“You were not eager to kill Dumbledore, after all. But let us assume you harbored too much affection for your old school and its headmaster, to be able to strike him then.”_

_Draco closed his eyes again, knowing the Dark Lord was wrong on one count. He cared nothing for Dumbledore. But Hogwarts, the halls filled with sunshine, the bright Quidditch pitch, the smell of potions, the scratching of quills…Crabbe and Goyle, those useless but entertaining oafs he’d grown to genuinely like…Even Harry Potter, the ever-insufferable golden boy, the dependable and worthy rival, who surely continued his heroics even when all hope was lost…_

_“But I am right in saying that you no longer harbor affection for Hogwarts.”_

_It wasn’t a question, but Draco answered anyway, lying through his teeth and making his mind blank. “I do not, my Lord.”_

_“It does not matter this time,” The Dark Lord continued, “For the wench that lies before you is a nobody. Do not hesitate, Draco.”_

_Two simple words and it would all be over. Draco pointed his wand at the Mudblood, who let out a strangled cry and began muttering a sort of prayer under her breath. Foolish girl. No one could help her now. Draco’s right hand trembled slightly; he forced himself to keep it steady. He knew the Dark Lord would punish him and his family dearly if he failed._

_Draco decided. He opened his mouth and took a breath._

_A hand clamped on his shoulder. But it was warm and insistent._

“Potter?” Draco muttered and thought he saw his face, green-eyed and smiling.

_No. The Dark Lord’s hand was cold and unyielding._

“Draco Malfoy?” The Healer shook him awake a bit harder, and the young man pulled himself from the dream, blinking in the bright, unnatural light. 

The eyes that bored into his own were not Potter’s but were such a similar shade of green that Draco felt his heart skip. He wondered briefly if the Healer was perhaps a distant relation, but her honeyed curls and bronzed skin did not coincide. The tag pinned to her chest read **Veritas Johansson.**

“That’s me,” Draco said quickly, embarrassed that he had fallen asleep. A crick in his neck had developed from slumping in the rickety wooden chair. The waiting room at St. Mungo’s Hospital was crowded as usual, but the patients and visitors had kept a considerable distance between themselves and the former Death Eater. Draco hadn’t realized how many people knew his face until he left Hogwarts - or perhaps they recognized Lucius in his features, which was worse.

“Your parents are ready,” Johansson said in an even tone, but her smile had faded. “Come.”

The Healer turned abruptly and headed down the corridor, lime green robes swishing in her wake. Draco stood and followed her; as they reached the rickety stairwell, he retrieved a silver pocket watch from inside his robes. He frowned as he realized it was six in the morning - he’d been waiting for nearly twelve hours. _Kept_ waiting, more likely. The instant he’d walked in, the Welcoming Witch had grimaced so horribly he knew the staff wouldn’t make his visit easy.

Johansson emerged onto the landing for the fourth floor. “Rebecca Lee Crumpler ward, third door on the right. Good day, sir,” She added, in a pained tone, and disappeared down the stairs to help the next visitor.

Draco found it both amusing and disappointing that the Healer felt he was dangerous enough to escort, but not important enough to be led the whole way. Slipping his timepiece into his robes, Draco strode towards the Rebecca Lee Crumpler ward.

When he arrived at the polished wooden door, Draco’s hand paused to open it. He hadn’t seen his parents together in over six months, and the last time he’d seen his father…it wasn’t an encounter he liked to dwell on. But before Draco could address his second thoughts, the door swung open. A tall Healer with a brutish face and hooded blue eyes regarded the black-clad wizard coldly.

Draco straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat. “I’m here to see-”

“You’re the Malfoy boy,” Interrupted the Healer, whose nametag read **Théo Hyacinthe.** He spat Draco’s name like a curse. “Come in and be quick about it. You have thirty minutes.”

Draco, who was not used to being addressed thus, flushed red. He opened his mouth to argue, thought better of it, and pushed past Hyacinthe to enter.

The ward was small, stark white, and freezing, reminding Draco of a marble tomb. The room lacked any kind of decoration - even the bedsheets were a faded gray. The only feature to differentiate the ward from a prison cell was a single window, wide but short, that let in the pale light of dawn. A curtain the same shade as the bedsheets was drawn across the far side of the room. But in the bed closest to the door sat a pale, thin figure, her dim blue eyes rising from a slim novel…

“Mother.” Draco thought his throat might close up when he saw her, or perhaps he’d cry. But all he felt was a rush of muted relief, that she was safe, and not yet imprisoned.

“Draco.” Narcissa placed her book pages-down on the worn blanket and clasped her hands.

Draco approached slowly, as if trying not to startle her, and sat down on a chair next to the bed. Narcissa reached out and touched his cheek, the faintest hint of affection in her gaze. Her blonde hair turned whitish-grey at the roots - it was the oldest she’d ever looked. Draco was alarmed to see that her wrist was bony, her limbs and face almost emaciated. 

“Have they been starving you?” Draco hissed under his breath, sparing a cautious glance at the Healer standing guard nearby.

Narcissa gave him a stern look. “I don’t have much of an appetite these days,” She told him. Though she spoke hoarsely, the clipped cadence and austere pronunciation were the same as before. In the back of his mind, Draco noticed that he’d been talking more like her recently, subconsciously avoiding the chilling drawl of his father in an effort to be less like him. “This is a hospital. They wouldn’t starve me, young one.”

“It’s not impossible,” Draco said grimly. “And I’m not so young anymore.”

Narcissa tilted her chin. “Perhaps not.” She lowered her voice so Hyacinthe would not hear. “You’ve done well with my letter. I did not expect the Ministry to help you. How did you persuade them?”

“Well…I had some help with that.” Draco took a deep breath. He might as well tell her now; at this point, Lucius had surely shown his wife the diary entry revealing his son’s same-sex attraction. “Harry Potter wrote the letter for me. He was the other witness.”

Narcissa nodded sagely and pursed her lips. “Are you and he…?”

Draco’s face burned, but he wasn’t stunned she’d guessed so quickly. “Yes. Mother, please don’t be angry.”

“I’m not angry. Do I look like I’m in a position to get angry?” Narcissa asked, thin lips spreading into a faint smile. “I’m not surprised, either. You wear your heart on your sleeve, Draco. Much like your father.” Her eyes darted to the curtain.

“Am I really that transparent?” Draco groaned, rubbing his temple with one hand.

Narcissa grinned wickedly. “Oh, yes,” She promised. “First, second, and third year, you simply wouldn’t stop talking about him. Potter this, Potter that, Potter with his fancy broomstick, Potter and his idiotic scar.”

Draco’s jaw dropped. “What? But…I didn’t like him then!”

“Perhaps not,” Narcissa amended. “Nevertheless, it was quite an unhealthy obsession. Your father agreed. But it didn’t take me long to realize what that hatred had turned into, the day he came to the Manor.”

Draco remembered. He’d been so hesitant to identify Potter, even though he could have recognized those green eyes from a mile away. “But I…I didn’t love him then,” He mumbled.

“Oh?” Narcissa arched an eyebrow. “You love him?”

“Um…” Draco thought his complexion may be ruined forever if he didn’t stop blushing. “Well, that’s…I…that’s a conversation for another day,” He finished, flustered.

Narcissa’s blue eyes twinkled for a moment. Then her face fell. “Yes. I suppose we ought to discuss something else.” She frowned. “You recall my letter. Your father and I will likely go to Azkaban.”

Draco’s jaw clenched, then his expression morphed to confusion. “Likely?” He echoed. “Have you been given a sentence?”

“Not officially. The Ministry summoned us for a trial right before the attack. I believe Lucius was planning to escape before they could take us away,” She lowered her voice at this, but Hyacinthe was staring out the window, looking bored, “But then we were…incapacitated,” She said delicately.

“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me exactly what happened?”

Narcissa inclined her head. “That’s a conversation for another day, as well. For now, you’d better say hello to your father.”

A shard of ice seemed to imbed itself in Draco’s chest. “Are you sure he’d want to see me?”

“You shall be the judge of that.”

And before Draco could stop her, Narcissa slid out of bed, white-stockinged feet landing on the wooden floor. Her arms shook with the effort of lifting her body. Hyacinthe rushed forward, his duty as a Healer overriding his suspicion of the Malfoy family.

“Do you need help, ma’am?”

“I’m fine,” Narcissa said airily, and with a muffled grunt, she stood up, swayed slightly on the spot, and walked over to the curtain. Draco followed hurriedly, ready to catch his weakened mother if she stumbled.

With shaking hands, Narcissa drew back the curtain. Draco caught his breath at the sight of his father. Lucius Malfoy’s long hair had turned snow-white and spread on the pillow like a false halo. His eyes, precisely the same shade as Draco’s, seemed shattered as if several people in a hurry had broken through them. But worst of all was the muttering, a steady stream of incomprehensible gibberish that contrasted heavily to the articulate diplomat Draco once knew.

Lucius did not indicate that he knew his wife and son stood nearby. His gaze remained fixed on the ceiling until Narcissa waved a hand in front of his face. Abruptly, Lucius stopped muttering and grinned broadly. It was then Draco noticed the white ropes tied over his father’s body, keeping him restrained.

“Gemma, glad you could be here!” Lucius greeted Narcissa warmly. “I thought perhaps these first years needed showing around, of course, you remember when we were that young. So naïve, so naïve…” He chattered on.

Narcissa smiled sadly and pressed a gentle hand to his forehead. “I’m not Gemma, sweetheart,” She said over the prattling, “I’m Narcissa Black. Narcissa, in Slytherin house, you helped me with Charms homework once, do you remember?”

“Gemma, do I look all right?” Lucius continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “I don’t want to be too intimidating, you understand, but they must be able to take pride in Slytherin! Ah, there they are!” And his shattered eyes suddenly locked on Draco, who became stiff, fearful, and unsure. “Severus Snape, is it? Yes, I’ve heard from Professor Slughorn you have shown _quite_ the aptitude in Potions. You know, of course, that Salazar Slytherin himself…” He jabbered on, completely unaware that the young man standing before him was eighteen and blond, with silver eyes filling with tears.

“How long has he been like this?” Draco said thickly.

Narcissa gave her son a sharp look. “Don’t cry,” She commanded, and immediately Draco blinked away his tears. It had been so long since he’d been with his family that he’d forgotten how condemning they were of weakness. “Your father will get better,” She said, though she didn’t sound confident. “When he got here, he didn’t know his name. But he’s remembering his past, slowly but surely.”

Draco’s brow furrowed, and he looked away from the broken shell of a father. _He can’t possibly go to Azkaban like this,_ He thought. _He’ll die instantly._

Though he didn’t voice the concern out loud, Narcissa guessed what her son was thinking. “Lucius is stronger than you think,” She said, and this time her voice was hard as steel.

The sun rose in earnest now, its rays filtering through the grayish curtains. Draco felt his eyelids grow heavy - the last time he’d gotten a full night’s rest had been back at the castle, an eternity ago. Potter had kissed him beneath the Invisibility Cloak before he’d left, green eyes sparkling with eternal optimism. _“I’ll get Ron and Hermione calmed down by the time you get back,” He promised, brushing an affectionate hand through Draco’s hair. “Good luck, Draco. When we see each other again, everything will be better, yeah?”_

Potter had smiled with so much hope that it was stupid. Draco’s heart dropped like a stone once he realized that once - if - Lucius gained back all his memories, he’d recall his son’s homosexuality. Draco would be disowned all over again. He thought of the tearstained letter, gathering dust in his trunk, inscribed with razor-sharp words that cut him to his core.

“Mother, he’s going to remember I’m gay,” Draco said, his voice shaking.

“That’s likely. And?”

“Mother, please. He’ll…” Draco hesitated, wondering if his next words were an exaggeration, but it scared him that he couldn’t be sure. “He’ll kill me.”

Narcissa scoffed. “Lucius loves you, Draco.”

Draco couldn’t help but give her a deadpan look. “Could have fooled me.”

“He’d be proud of you, you know.” She looked at her husband, whose chatter had died down to a mutter once more. “About standing up to the Dark Lord when he never could.” Narcissa regarded her left forearm, where the faint brand of the Dark Mark lay beneath her clothes.

“I never stood up to him,” Draco said bitterly. “I’m not that brave.”

“Resistance comes in the small acts,” Narcissa murmured, still looking at Lucius. “You are no hero, Draco.” The words were accurate, but they stung. “But you can still choose to be.”

“It’s too late for me.”

Narcissa snorted, and Draco blinked in shock at the uncharacteristic action. “Please. You’re an eighteen-year-old boy with your whole life ahead of you. No need to be so melodramatic.” Before Draco could argue, Hyacinthe the Healer announced that there were ten minutes left. Narcissa sighed and began to hobble back towards her bed. Draco slid the curtain across the rod, obscuring his father. “Let us discuss your future, Draco,” Narcissa said as she climbed back into bed, “And whether or not you will have one.”

• • •

Draco left with more questions than he had started with. Hyacinthe opened the door for the young man, and Draco slipped into the hallway. His head whirled with confusion, wondering…Would his parents really go to Azkaban? If so, when? And what about Draco himself? 

Narcissa had whispered an idea to him when there were two minutes left; it seemed preposterous, far-fetched. But she was desperate - and so was Draco.

“Who can I speak to about where they’ll go after discharge?” Draco asked the brutish-faced Healer. 

Hyacinthe tried to chivvy Draco along the hallway without answering, but he stood firm. Drawing himself up to his full one hundred and seventy-seven centimeters, Draco gave the Healer the best superior, intimidating Malfoy look he could muster. “I see how a lowly staff member such as yourself could be woefully uninformed,” He drawled, “But surely you cannot be _that_ dense. Let me make myself clear,” Draco narrowed his eyes, and a look of uncertainty flitted across Hyacinthe’s face, “I require information. Withhold such information from me, and you will have made an enemy of Draco Malfoy. Is that what you want?” 

It was the first time Draco relied on his own reputation rather than his father’s, but it worked. Hyacinthe paled under the Malfoy’s stare and shook his head. “No, sir. I…um, I know who you can speak to. Please, follow me.”

Draco smirked triumphantly, but then he envisioned Potter’s frown at his sharp behavior. “Thank you,” He added politely, and the Healer threw him a curious look over his shoulder.

Passed from Hyacinthe to another, senior Healer, and a Ministry official affiliated with St. Mungo’s, Draco finally ended up in the Ministry itself, in front of the Head of Aurors office.

_Funny how far a few confident words will get you,_ Draco thought to himself. Next to him, a mousy-haired secretary knocked timidly on the door.

“Draco M-Malfoy here to see you,” The secretary stammered, so softly that he must have been using a charm to speak through the door. 

“Enter,” Called a low, female voice, and the secretary hurriedly opened the door for Draco, letting him through. 

The warmth of the office was a stark contrast to the chilliness of St. Mungo’s and the rest of the Ministry. An orange fire flickered weakly in the fireplace, but the enchanted window on one side made up for its lack of illumination. Bright sunlight, partially filtered through lush greenery, spilled into the room. The landscape shown in the window did not reflect any area of the United Kingdom, with craggy mountains, emerald trees, and a small hut in the distance with smoke trickling from a hole in its roof. 

Draco pulled his eyes away from the oddly beautiful scene and set his gaze upon the Head of the Auror Office, whose name was Caroline Danjuma, according to the gold nameplate set upon the desk. Danjuma herself was already standing, and though she was at least a foot shorter than Draco, she radiated leadership. The charcoal gray Auror robes seemed even more imposing draped around her clearly muscular figure, and her dark brown eyes followed Draco sternly as he edged into the room. 

“Please have a seat, Draco Malfoy,” She said courteously, and Draco did so, perching upon one of the leather-cushioned chairs before her. Danjuma herself did not sit. “I understand you have questions for me?” Her voice was prim, but Draco detected a foreign accent beneath it, something he couldn’t place. 

“Yes,” Draco sat forward, “Thank you for meeting me on such short notice, Madame Danjuma. I simply came to ask-” 

“ _Commander_ Danjuma,” She corrected, slipping a wand from her sleeve. Draco flinched, but the witch only used it to open a drawer in the desk. “You like some tea?” 

“I…no, thank you.” 

“You won’t find tea like this anywhere else,” Danjuma said insistently, already floating a stout ceramic thermos and two teacups onto the desk. 

“Fine,” Draco relented and continued as the Auror poured caramel-colored liquid into the cups. “Firstly, I’d like to know when and if my parents are going to Azkaban.” 

“About that, I do not know much,” Danjuma admitted, sliding a teacup towards him. “Have some.” Only then did she sit, the fabric of her robes draping elegantly around the tall, cushioned chair. 

Impatient, Draco took a quick sip. “Well, if you don’t know, who - oh,” He interrupted himself as he tasted the “tea,” which seemed more like a slightly syrupy concoction, sugary, cinnamony, and chocolatey all at once. “This is very good, what is it?” He asked, his sweet tooth making him lose his train of thought for a moment. 

Danjuma beamed, running a deep brown, stubby hand over her tight, salt-and-pepper curls almost bashfully. “Tea from home. Milo, hot water, cocoa powder, and evaporated milk. Add spices if you wish.” 

Draco took another sip, then shook his head, focusing on the matter at hand. “Anyway, who _would_ know, then?” 

The Auror shrugged. “I do not know that, either.” 

“Well, that’s helpful,” Draco muttered. The older woman raised an eyebrow, and he pressed on, “And me? Do you know if I’ll go to Azkaban?” 

“Hmm. That depends.” Danjuma leaned over and opened another drawer, manually this time. Draco waited restlessly while she retrieved an old, yellowed file. “How willing are you to repay your debt?” She slid the file over to him, and Draco opened it. 

His eyes scanned the information, which pertained to two pureblood families: the Blacks and the Malfoys. His heritage. Draco saw newspaper clippings of his grandfather Abraxas Malfoy’s controversial Ministry interferences, a young Bellatrix Black’s first crimes, Lucius Malfoy’s unmasking as a Death Eater, Narcissa’s subsequent unmasking that caught everyone, including her own son, by surprise…And there, in the latest parts of the file…Draco’s stomach did a slow, agonizing roll. His own pale, pointed face stared listlessly into the camera, next to a headline. **Death Eater, Heir to the Malfoy Fortune, Suspect in the…**

Draco couldn’t bear to finish reading. He knew what the rest of that headline said, even though it’d never been published in the _Daily Prophet_. “How did you find out?” He whispered hoarsely. 

Commander Danjuma’s soft expression suddenly grew as hard as obsidian. “Is that a confession?” 

“No. No, I didn’t…” _Didn’t you?_ A voice hissed, like a snake, in his mind. 

Danjuma continued to frown, but when she spoke again, her tone was diplomatic. “That article, never published, for a reason. You were not immediately sentenced to Azkaban, nor given a trial, for a reason. Can you guess what that reason is, Draco Malfoy?"

His throat seemed sticky, and he shook his head silently. 

“Because you were a child.” Her dark eyes shone with pity, an all-too-familiar expression. Draco looked down at the desk to avoid it. “Still are, some argue. Some also argue because you were of age when the crime occurred,” She hesitated, and Draco knew she meant to say something other than “crime,” “That you should be held accountable. But many have decided to pardon you if you repay your debt. Did your mother discuss something like that to you today? Of a repayment nature?” 

Draco looked up in surprise. “Yes. Did you tell her…?” 

“There is a sort of, say, probation system that the Ministry has not used, not for a long time.”

In the brilliant light of the enchanted scenery beside them, Auror Commander Danjuma explained. Draco’s eyes grew wide at first, and his instincts rebelled. For too long, he’d been a servant to a higher force. He didn’t want to go back to that. _But this is different,_ he told himself, _This is the kind of thing that Potter would do._

As Danjuma finished, Draco knew he stood at a crossroads. Staring at the dregs at the bottom of his tea, the young wizard chose a path. He thanked the Auror and left, mind positively humming with apprehension for the future that lay before him. He couldn’t help but smile as he imagined Potter’s reaction to the news. Perhaps that idiotic and adorable hero had been right after all - life was, tentatively, looking up.


	33. Enter the Tempest

Waiting hurt like hell.

For the rest of Saturday, Harry paced the corridors of the castle, muttering under his breath, trying to convince himself that his friends would eventually take his side. He did his best to avoid other students, which became more difficult once it began to rain. Voices, footsteps, and drips upon the flagstones echoed throughout the castle. Harry found sanctuary in the Owlery, listening to the flapping wings and feeling the drops splash his face like tears. He stayed there for hours, watching night descend, until curfew when he slipped into the dark dormitory. Ron’s emerald hangings had been drawn tight around his bed - Harry avoided looking in his direction and undressed quietly.

Though he felt exhausted from the day’s trials, Harry stayed awake long after midnight, replaying the failed conversation in his mind, wondering what he could have done differently. In the eternally long silence, Harry tried to get angry at Ron and Hermione, wanted to curse them for abandoning him so quickly over the pretext of pretending to care about his safety…but he found that he couldn’t. That was the issue with unconditional love, Harry thought, he couldn’t stop feeling it for them no matter how illogical it was. Still, their betrayal pained him to no end - it coursed through his veins like slow-acting snake venom, squeezing tears from his eyes, and making his stomach twist in anxiety. Why couldn’t they just accept Draco for the fact that he made Harry happy?

That question and others tumbled around in his mind for a long time that night. To distract himself, Harry strained his ears against the dull roar of the rained-upon lake for a creak of the floorboards, a sigh, anything that would signal Draco’s return. But he never did, and Harry fell into a brief, fitful slumber, dreading the next morning.

On Sunday, Harry recounted his conversation with Ron and Hermione in the Gryffindor common room, to an attentive audience of two. Luna patted Harry’s shoulder, offering him soft words of comfort. Ginny pursed her lips and grew a bit miffed that Harry had outed her to Ron, and soon left the room, girlfriend at her side, leaving Harry feeling more alone than ever.

Waiting for Draco hurt like hell, but the pain faded immediately when Harry saw him. Poised and postured as usual, though the shadows beneath his eyes and slightly mussed hair implied he hadn’t been sleeping well. Draco caught his boyfriend’s attention from across the hallway before Defense class, his silver eyes gleaming, wearing a meaningful look that made it clear he had much to talk about.

The effort gave Harry a headache, but he treated Draco with the barest geniality during class, talking to him only if he was required to. He hoped it would appease Ron and Hermione slightly, but they still avoided him like dragon pox, not sparing Harry nor Draco a single malicious glare. Draco himself seemed to know that Harry’s chilliness was a fake front and kept up the unfriendly classmate charade with acting skills and patience that Harry was envious of.

During the last class of the day, Harry opened his textbook as McGonagall lectured about Featuristic Transfiguration. As he flipped through the pages, a loose bit of parchment sticking out from behind the front cover caught his notice. Harry placed the scrap onto his notes, immediately recognizing the cramped cursive: **Room of Requirement.** Resisting the urge to turn around and face Draco, who dutifully took notes a few seats away, Harry folded the parchment and slipped it back between the pages. He tried to squash his grin as he copied the diagram for transfigurative wrist movements.

One good thing about Ron and Hermione ignoring him, Harry reflected, shoving his books into his bag as the bell rang, they wouldn’t ask where he rushed off to. He climbed up six flights of stairs in quite a hurry, leaving him panting slightly once he reached the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy demonstrating a pirouette to a group of trolls.

 _I need a place to talk to Draco Malfoy in private._ Harry repeated the phrase in his head while he paced back and forth with his eyes closed. On the third recitation, he opened his eyes to a polished wooden door set in the cobblestone.

The Room of Requirement’s magic had not diminished since the last time Harry had visited. The room was small but cozy, with a fire flickering in one corner to drive away the castle’s chill. A simple, woven rug warmed the cold stone floor. Directly opposite the door was a window seat, covered in red and green cushions, set in an alcove. The view from the tall window would have been impressive, displaying the grounds, but persistent rain clouded the glass.

Harry shed his outer robes and vest in the warmth of the fire. He’d dropped his unneeded clothes and schoolbag to the floor when the door opened. He turned to see Draco, who, despite his tired appearance, looked content. “Hey,” Harry greeted as his boyfriend strode across the carpet, “I’m so glad - mph!”

Abruptly, and perhaps with a bit more force than necessary, Draco pressed his lips to Harry’s. His cold hands gently caressed Harry’s face. Once Harry got over his surprise, his arms encircled Draco’s waist, and he felt his pain melt like snow in the summer, his worries about Ron and Hermione pushed resolutely from his mind.

The couple broke apart. After a few breathless moments, each remembered they had something to say. “We need to talk,” Harry blurted, and at the same time, Draco announced, “I have news.”

“Er, you first,” Harry said quickly, hoping Draco’s news was more positive than his own.

“Perhaps we’d better sit down.” Draco nodded to the window seat. A bit reluctantly, Harry left his arms and settled upon the cushions as Draco placed his satchel on the floor.

Perched upon the seat, Draco began to tell Harry of his visit to St. Mungo’s. Harry could tell by the way Draco glanced down at his hands every so often that he kept some details hidden, but Harry didn’t pressure him for them. He understood the gist: Narcissa was okay, Lucius not in his right mind, and the Malfoys’ future uncertain.

“It’s frustrating, not knowing what’s going to happen to them,” Draco concluded. “I have to ‘wait and see’, apparently.” He sounded so bitter that Harry almost wanted to say sorry, but he knew Draco wouldn’t appreciate that. “But there is something that might help them,” Draco continued, and he recounted the odd visit to the Head of the Auror Office.

“They let me off the hook for being a Death Eater since I was so young,” Draco explained. “But my - um, other crimes my family committed hadn’t been properly penalized.” Again, Harry got the feeling that Draco was hiding something, but he didn’t dare ask what. “But the Commander offered me a way to pay off the ‘debt,’ per se, that the Malfoys owe, via a type of…” He paused delicately, searching for the right words, “Indentured employment. If I work as an Auror for twenty years, they might let my parents and me go free. She wasn’t clear on what would happen to them in the interim, but-”

“Wait,” Harry interrupted, brow furrowing, “Indentured employment? For twenty _years_? You’re saying the Ministry will control your future.”

“In essence, yes.”

“But that’s…” Harry shuddered, flooded with memories from his own life as the Boy Who Lived. Held captive to a prophecy, unable to live as an average child, raised precisely to sacrifice himself for the greater good. In hindsight, even the salvation of the world didn’t stop him wishing that he didn’t have the responsibility forced upon his shoulders at all. “That’s awful.”

Draco looked surprised at Harry’s reaction for a moment, but his pale face took on an expression of resignation. “I don’t mind doing it, Potter. Well, I _do_ mind, but it’s worth it.”

“But what about your potions?” Harry insisted, “Your experiments? I thought you liked doing those, maybe even for a living.”

A shadow of regret passed over Draco’s face. “Yes, well…That’s not really an option anymore. I can’t lose my parents to Azkaban; I don’t have anyone else. Besides,” He continued, “I thought you’d be thrilled! We’d be working together, wouldn’t we?”

Harry felt lighter, though he still wasn’t okay with Draco’s choice being taken away. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Apparently not,” Draco said, rolling his eyes, “So, no need to get - oh!”

Something gray and feathery thunked against the window, then vanished. Harry and Draco squinted through the rain, which was still steady enough to obscure the atmosphere. The shape shot up once more, and Harry could see it was an owl clutching a letter in its beak, drenched and dazed from hitting the window.

“Does the window open?” Harry wondered aloud, and as he said it, a handle appeared next to his hand. He pulled it, and the pane swung open, letting in a considerable amount of wind and water, plus the owl, which was swept unceremoniously onto the rug.

Tugging the window closed took considerably more effort than opening it, and Harry’s button-down was thoroughly soaked by the time he managed it. He noticed Draco glancing at his chest through the semi-transparent fabric and cleared his throat pointedly. Draco looked away, but he didn’t bother to hide his smirk, and Harry blushed.

“I’ll take care of the owl,” Draco said airily, and he knelt by the poor, sprawled creature. Harry busied himself as well, hastily drying his shirt and glasses with his wand.

The bedraggled owl hooted feebly as Draco retrieved the letter, tossed it aside, and drew his wand. “ _Sicali,_ ” He uttered, and the bird’s dark gray feathers dried to a fluffy texture. The owl straightened to a standing position and fluttered its wings, apparently pleased. “How’d you get all the way up here, little one?” Draco cooed, stroking the animal’s downy head. “You must be tired.”

Harry smiled at his boyfriend’s uncharacteristic softness and knelt by him, picking up the dropped letter. The envelope was soaked through, and Harry tried but failed to make out the smudged address.

“Here,” Draco leaned over and muttered the same spell he used for the owl, and the letter became instantly dry.

“Thanks.” Harry grinned as he read the good-as-new ink; the letter was from Hagrid.

**Dear Harry,**

**I’ve been back from Romania since Sunday and I’ll be here for the week. Ron and Hermione came down, but they clammed up when I asked where you were. I’m guessing you know why? Drop by for some tea whenever you can!**

**Your friend, Hagrid**

“Hagrid’s back!” Harry exclaimed gleefully. He’d been keeping in touch with the former gamekeeper ever since he’d left to work with Charlie Weasley and his dragons, but Harry hadn’t known when he’d be returning.

Draco frowned, not sharing his enthusiasm. “Hagrid, that o…verly enthusiastic professor with the hippogriffs?” He said, switching attitudes midsentence at the nettled look on Harry’s face.

“I know you don’t like him very much,” Harry acknowledged, “But he’s a close friend of mine.”

Draco looked pained. “A friend whose bird attacked me! I could have died!”

“Buckbeak scratched your arm,” Harry said bluntly.

“I was twelve. I could have _died,_ Potter,” Draco repeated, widening his eyes appealingly, but Harry wasn’t swayed.

“Thirteen, and definitely not,” Harry said firmly, and Draco huffed. “Come on, why don’t we both visit him this evening?”

“Don’t make me,” Draco groaned.

“It’ll mean a lot to me,” Harry implored. He tried giving Draco the same pleading look, but the Slytherin had deliberately turned his attention to the owl again. Harry added, “If I tell him about us…”

“You wouldn’t!”

“He’ll take it much better than anyone else,” Harry said, and somehow, he felt sure about that. “And I can tell him what happened when I told Ron and Hermione. You want to know what happened, don’t you?” He asked slyly.

“Blackmail, Potter,” Draco huffed, but Harry could tell he wasn’t actually angry. “He’d better have good tea,” Draco muttered as he scooped up the owl, nestling the bird in his arms.

• • •

Harry started to regret his decision five meters away from the castle. The wind whistled gaily in their ears, hurling marble-sized drops of rain onto their faces and clothes. Draco had placed anti-moisture charms on their hooded traveling cloaks before leaving, but the deluge somehow trickled in through the gaps, and both students were soaked halfway to their destination. 

Draco stuck close to his boyfriend as they picked their way down the slope. Even though he’d put an Impervius Charm on his glasses, Harry still had to squint to see Hagrid’s hut. The lights from within glowed a golden yellow that was barely visible through the downpour.

“Athena’s getting wet again,” Draco fretted, peeking into his robes at the owl loosely wrapped inside, hooting pitifully. 

“You _named_ it?” They were nearly halfway. Harry could make out the outlines of the pumpkins in Hagrid’s garden, normal-sized, vines wild in his absence. 

“Was I not supposed to?” Draco replied brazenly. “She likes it, I think.” 

As they neared the hut, the sod turned to steppingstones, slippery in the rain. Harry stumbled on one, but Draco caught him by the arm before he fell. 

“Careful there, sweetheart,” Draco muttered as his boyfriend steadied himself, and though Harry knew the endearment was said sarcastically, he smiled beneath his hood. 

The pair arrived at Hagrid’s doorstep, standing close to the building to shield themselves from the rain. Harry pounded twice on the door, hoping Hagrid would hear him over the storm. 

“It’s Harry and a friend!” He shouted, “I got your letter!”

The door swung open, and a pair of enormous hands waved for them to come in. “In, yeh lot,” said a familiar voice, “Catch your cold out there.” 

A blast of warmth hit Draco and Harry as they sidled hurriedly into the hut, door slamming behind them. A fire roared cheerily beneath a copper kettle that emitted a white plume of steam. A couple of pheasants hung from the ceiling. The ominous scent of burning flour and raisins meant that Hagrid was baking his infamous rock cakes. His dog, Fang, was nowhere to be seen, but Harry noticed a terrarium in the corner that housed a small, hedgehog-like creature that appeared to be sleeping; a knarl, Harry guessed.

Hagrid’s black eyes twinkled, and he beamed at Harry from behind his bushy, dark beard. He towered over both students, and Harry could feel Draco tense next to him as Hagrid spoke in his booming voice. “Don’ be a stranger, eh, Harry? Been months since I’ve seen yeh!”

“It’s good to have you back, Hagrid,” Harry replied, giving his friend a hug. Hagrid patted him on the head with so much force Harry’s knees almost buckled. Draco let out a quiet whimper of alarm.

“That Ron or Hermione with yeh?” Hagrid asked, and Draco removed the cloak’s hood. His silver eyes were wide and anxious, reflecting the flickering firelight. Hagrid frowned as he recognized the former Death Eater. “An’ what’ve we got here? Malfoy spawn…Come ter drive me out, is that it? On’y been here two days.”

“N-no,” Draco stammered under Hagrid’s glare, and it occurred to Harry that he might actually be scared of their old professor. “I’m Potter’s, er, friend. We brought your owl back,” He added, unwrapping the damp bird from his cloak. The owl hooted gratefully and fluttered over to the table, where she began pecking at the remnants of Hagrid’s lunch.

“It’s alright, Hagrid,” Harry said quickly, stepping between them as Hagrid continued to glower. “I trust him.”

Hagrid seemed to soften. “If you trust him, Harry, I might as well. I see a lot has changed since I left. Make yerselves comfortable, I’ll brew us a cuppa.” He lumbered towards the cupboard, retrieving three floral-patterned mugs as Harry and Draco draped their wet cloaks over the kitchen chairs. “An’ she’s not mine,” Hagrid added as he rummaged for tea leaves, “Found her in the Forbidden Forest, little creature seemed lost. She’s young, for an owl.”

“I named her Athena,” Draco said, eyeing Hagrid warily.

Hagrid grunted approvingly as he put on a lumpy oven mitt, grabbed the kettle, and poured hot water. “Suits her. One of you can keep her if you like.”

“Oh…Thanks,” Draco managed a faint smile as he watched Athena nibble at a stale slice of bread.

Hagrid set out the steaming, mint-scented tea and a plate of hot rock cakes, which Harry wisely ignored. Draco followed his example and reached for a mug. “So, the Chosen One and an ex-Death Eater are friends,” Hagrid remarked as he sat in a chair half as tall as Harry. “How on Earth did that happen?”

“That’s a…long and complicated story,” Harry said, exchanging a look with Draco. “It all started when he wrote to me during the summer. I guess I gave him a second chance, and we finally managed to get along. It’s been weird, but…interesting. In a good way.”

“That’s accurate,” Draco agreed.

“But a few months ago…” Harry continued, and he looked over at Draco again, who hesitated, then nodded encouragingly. “Our friendship, er, grew into something more. We’re dating now,” He finished awkwardly.

Hagrid was eerily quiet for a few moments, and all they could hear was the rustle of Athena’s feathers, the crackling fire, and the pounding of the rain. Hagrid’s face was unusually hard to read, and he regarded his tea thoughtfully.

“Malfoy’s your boyfriend? Like Ron is ter Hermione?” He asked.

Harry swallowed. “Yes.”

“That’s interestin’,” Hagrid murmured, seemingly to himself. “That’s real interestin’. Not ‘xactly what I expected, but not surprising, considerin’ all…” He trailed off.

“Excuse me,” Draco interrupted, grey eyes narrowing in confusion, “Did you say you’re not surprised?” 

“Maybe I am, a bit,” Hagrid amended, “Never occurred ter me, boys bein’ together, but it’s not hard ter wrap me head around. I mean, look at what I had fer parents! But that’s not the interestin’ part. See,” He began, and Harry felt they were in for a bit of a ramble, “Ever since you were kids, Harry wouldn’t stop blatherin’ about you ter me, Malfoy. Ron an’ ‘Mione did it, too, but Harry was the worst. Kid was obsessed.”

Draco’s mouth fell open, and he looked incredulously at Harry, who felt his face warming from more than just the fire.

“So, I think to meself, ‘Ah, that’s just normal school rivalry, boys bein’ boys.’ An’ I guess it was, ter summat degree. I even heard about Harry and couple o’ other kids jinxin’ yeh a few times. But when You-Know-Who came back,” Hagrid sighed heavily into his cup, “That’s when everythin’ changed. I didn’t see you much meself, Malfoy, but teachers talk, you know. Sixth year was the worst for you. Yeh didn’t eat much, couldn’t focus. Harry here noticed somethin’ was off, too. Ron an’ Hermione told me how yeh wouldn’t stop talkin’ about Malfoy,” Hagrid addressed Harry, “What he could be up to, an’ yeh thought he was a Death Eater.”

“He wasn’t wrong, though,” Draco interrupted softly. 

Hagrid fell into a troubled silence then, scowling into his mug. Seeking to hurry past the sticky moment, Harry asked, “If you thought I hated him, why is it not surprising that we’re together?”

“Well, if yeh look at all the facts,” Hagrid said, spreading his enormous hands in a sweeping gesture, and Harry grabbed his mug to keep it from being knocked over, “It makes sense, don’t it? Yer the kindest, most forgivin’ person I ever met, Harry. ‘Cept maybe your mum.” Hagrid sighed heavily, and Harry felt the familiar twinge of sadness that always appeared whenever someone mentioned Lily. “An’ Malfoy…I don’ think kids lined up to be friends with ya after all that’s happened.”

Draco inclined his head. “Not really, no.”

“So, what better person for yeh ter be with than Harry? I can’t think of anyone else who’d accept yeh and befriend yeh like he has.” Satisfied with his reasoning, Hagrid reached for a rock cake.

Harry tilted his mug to one side, formulating a reply. “There’s still give and take, though,” He said finally.

“There’s what?” Hagrid grunted, and at the same time, Draco asked, “What do you mean?” Flustered at having spoken in unison with a half-giant, Draco promptly busied himself with gulping down tea.

“I mean,” Harry rushed on, “You’re making it sound like he’s dependent on me. Like I’m the only one with standards low enough to like him.”

“Er…” Hagrid scratched his beard, “Tha’s not how I meant ter sound…”

“It’s fine. I’m just saying,” Harry glanced over at Draco, who had drained his mug and listened attentively, “I’m not dating him because I feel sorry for him. Maybe, deep down, that’s why I let him approach me, but that’s definitely not the case anymore. I genuinely like you, Draco,” He continued, speaking now directly to his boyfriend, “For lots of reasons. It’d take me all day to list them all. I hope you don’t think I’m with you just because I feel obliged to.”

“No, I didn’t get that impression,” Draco said softly, though he wore a small smile, and his silver eyes were shining with relief.

A bit bemused, Hagrid looked back and forth between them a few times before breaking the silence. “Well…nice to see that yeh get along.”

“Getting along is putting it lightly,” Harry said with a grin, catching Draco’s eye, and his pale cheeks flushed.

Nearby, Athena hooted in a satisfied sort of way. She fluttered from the food-speckled table to the rafters, perching and preening her ruffled, damp feathers. Hagrid offered the two students refills on tea, and they accepted. Once all three cups steamed, Draco seemed keen to move the conversation along.

“So, Potter. Aren’t you going to tell us what happened with Ron and Hermione?”

“Right…” Harry filled Hagrid in, “I told them over the weekend that Draco and I are together. And it did not go well.” Harry took a deep breath before he launched into an explanation of Saturday’s epic row, Draco and Hagrid listening intently. At particular points, Hagrid shook his head in concern. Draco grew steadily paler, clasping his hands like Harry knew he did every time he felt anxious. By the time Harry had finished, Hagrid’s mouth set into a frown, Draco looked like he was going to be sick, and Athena had fallen asleep.

“That…is not good,” Draco said, rubbing his temples; he evidently didn’t take well to being accused of deliberate seduction.

“Er, I don’t suppose there’s any possibility of Malfoy actually doin’ such a thing?” Hagrid asked, more to Harry than Draco.

“No!” Both of them cried unanimously, and Draco scowled. 

“I dunno yeh that well,” Hagrid said apologetically, but Draco only made a displeased noise and crossed his arms. “That’s unlike Ron and Hermione, don’t yeh think?” He asked Harry. “They normally have your back.”

“Yeah, well…” Harry shrugged despondently. “Not this time, I guess. Maybe they’re trying to protect me.”

“From what, me?” Draco let out a short, sarcastic laugh. “Terrible job they’re doing so far, then, if they’re just ignoring us.”

“I can’t tell what Hermione and Ron are thinking,” Harry said honestly. “I’m giving them time to process, for now.”

“How do you know if …” Draco’s words faded off into a mutter, but Harry could read his lips well enough to deduce what he’d said: _How do you know if they’ll come back in the end?_

Outside, a particularly loud crack of thunder startled all three men and caused the hut to shake slightly. Athena woke for a moment, clicking her beak worriedly for a few seconds before tucking her head back down.

“Before yeh go back,” Hagrid began, eyeing the flashes of lightning outside, “I should warn you both. People will come after ya, for as long as you’re together, for bein’ different. They’re goin’ ter say, ‘a half-blood shouldn’t be with a pureblood,’ ‘the Chosen One shouldn’t be with Death Eater scum…’ Uh, sorry,” He said to Draco, who made a face but didn’t interrupt. “An’ I haven’t heard of many, er, what do ya call ‘ems…With two boys or two girls?”

“Gay,” Harry offered.

“Gay couples, ‘specially not in wizarding families. You’ll have the whole world after yeh.”

“That’s not comforting,” Draco mumbled, gripping his mug so tightly that his fingers turned snow-white.

“It’s not supposed ter be. ‘S not fair either, if you ask me. People oughta be able ter love who they want,” Hagrid’s expression hardened, and Harry wondered if he was talking about someone else. “Point is, you got ter get used to it. Toughen up, rely on your friends.”

Harry grimaced. “But Ron and Hermione-”

“If they don’t accept yeh soon enough, find new friends,” Hagrid said shortly. “Yer gonna need all the help you can get. Because out there,” He waved a dustbin-sized hand towards the rain-slicked window, “Not many people will be on your side.”

There was a tinkling of breaking ceramic as Draco accidentally knocked his mug over and onto the floor. His hands were shaking as they reached into his robes for his wand to fix the damage.

“Let me,” Harry said instantly, retrieving his own wand. “ _Reparo._ _Scourgify._ ” With a scraping noise, the mug flew back onto the table, undamaged, and the spilled liquid vanished from the rough wooden planks.

“Thanks,” Draco muttered through a clenched jaw, but Harry knew he wasn’t angry. Nervous and scared, maybe. Harry could relate.

Another boom of thunder echoed throughout the Hogwarts grounds, the rain pounding mercilessly against the windowpanes. Across the room, the knarl had woken up, its tiny mouth opening in a yawn as it paced restlessly in its terrarium. “Maybe yeh ought to wait out the storm,” Hagrid offered.

“No, we’re okay,” Harry declined when he saw the alarm on Draco’s face. “We should be heading back. Could you let Athena stay the night, though?” At the sound of her name, the owl abruptly rose from her light slumber and swooped down upon them. On instinct, Harry lifted his arm, and Athena landed on it, talons gripping him firmly. She fixed her yellow eyes upon him and resolutely settled her wings. “Guess she’ll come with us again,” Harry decided, and Athena allowed him to drape a section of his cloak over her as a shelter from the rain.

“Well, it’s been nice catchin’ up with yeh.” Hagrid stood, his chair making an almighty scraping noise. “Drop in anytime, Harry, I’ll be here all week. You too, Malfoy,” He added gruffly, and Draco nodded shortly. “An’ keep writin’ to me, yeh hear? I want ter know what happens with Ron an’ Hermione.”

“I will,” Harry gave his friend another hug before he and Draco pulled up the hoods of their cloaks. “’Bye, Hagrid.”

The walk back to the castle was even more treacherous than the previous journey; the storm refused to abate. Draco and Harry slipped more than once on the wet grass, Athena squawking uneasily when they did so. Lightning crackled in bright fissures against the darkening sky, thick with clouds. The students kept their heads bowed against the downpour, not pausing to talk until they’d reached the castle entrance.

Athena, feeling that three times in the rain was plenty for one evening, hooted insistently to be let out. Harry released her from his cloak and opened the door only a crack before the owl shot off into the castle, leaving behind a couple gray feathers in her hurry.

“Does she know where the Owlery is?” Harry wondered aloud.

Draco ignored this question, pushing back his hood. The rain had turned his hair a darker blond, the damp locks slightly wavier than usual. “ _Do_ you think they’ll accept us?” He said abruptly, and it took Harry a minute to realize who he was talking about.

“Ron and Hermione? I don’t know,” Harry sighed, uncovering his head as well. “I want to believe that they will. For my sake, at least. But you…”

“I’m me,” Draco concluded morosely. “They’d forgive you instantly if you broke up with me, you know.”

He was right, but Harry didn’t want to admit it out loud. Saying it would make everything disappear: the secret hand-holding, the nights spent in front of the Black Lake window, traded smiles hidden in the haze of the vapor-filled dungeon. Harry knew his friends wouldn’t mind if he dropped Draco Malfoy in a heartbeat, ignored him, excluded him, and let things go back to normal. But Harry didn’t want to go back. “I won’t.”

Draco’s mouth quirked. “Never?”

“I don’t know about _never_ ,” Harry said hastily. “But definitely not anytime soon. Unless I find out something really awful about you, I guess.”

“Hm, really?” Draco stepped closer. Harry could see every tiny drop clinging to his pale lashes. “Something awful? Like…that I used to be a Death Eater?”

“What?” Harry’s jaw dropped, his eyes widening. “No way. I can’t believe this!” He ran both hands through his messy hair in mock-distress. Draco arched an eyebrow, trying to look stern, but the unconcealable grin ruined the effect. “You? A _Death Eater?_ I’m shocked.”

Draco snickered and wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist, bending his head until their mouths were scarce inches apart. “All right, I get it, Potter.”

The inexplicable scent of dewy gardenias nearly made Harry forget what he was going to say next. He put his arms around Draco’s neck and unswervingly met his gaze. “No, I’m serious! We should talk about this,” He said teasingly.

“Oh, hush,” Draco whispered, and kissed him, just as Harry had hoped for. Time turned to honey, and the ruckus of the lightning-embroidered tempest faded to background noise. For a moment, Harry could imagine that it was just the two of them, living in their own bubble of happiness while the world raged futilely outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter sees a shift in tone - before Draco arrives, Harry's days and experiences sort of blur together in a dialouge-lacking mush. But once he meets up with Draco, it's like Harry's perspective has been revitalized, life and color returning back to his existence. I like playing around with the language itself rather than the content to create a certain atmosphere, so I really enjoyed writing this chapter.


	34. Euphoria, Part One

“Ready for today?”

The question came so suddenly that it startled Harry, who choked on his cornflakes, and he barely managed to swallow them before promptly launching into a series of sharp coughs.

“Bloody hell, Harry, you alright?” the someone exclaimed apologetically, and for a dazed moment, Harry thought it was Ron speaking, but the voice was pitched higher. Ginny Weasley thumped Harry a couple times on the back, and he soon stopped coughing.

“You’re talking to me again,” Harry observed hoarsely, eyes watering. He put down the book he’d been reading, wondering if the modicum of entertainment it provided was worth letting his guard down. One never knew when they could be surprised into suffocation.

“I never stopped,” Ginny pointed out, grabbing a nearby toast and smearing it with strawberry jam.

“Quidditch talk doesn’t count,” Harry said, pushing away his bowl of carbohydrate choking hazards. All week, Ginny had been giving him the cold shoulder. She didn’t look him in the eye during practice, instructing Fiona Chang, their reserve Seeker, instead of letting Harry talk to her, and didn’t look up from her books the few times he’d attempted studying with her and Luna. “I suppose you’re only here to talk about the match, then?” He grumbled.

Ginny gave him the stink-eye. “All right, so I’ve been a little frosty. You did out me to Ron and Hermione.”

Harry sighed, all-too-familiar guilt twisting in his stomach. “I know. I’m sorry.”

She shrugged and took a bite of her toast. “I’ve decided to forgive you. It’s not like I was going to hide it from them forever,” She said between mouthfuls. “But I _am_ here to talk about Quidditch.” Ginny lowered her voice and leaned closer. “Are you and Draco okay?”

Even though she was whispering, Harry glanced around nervously. All the other students at the Gryffindor table were well out of the eavesdropping range. Harry peeked over his shoulder at the other tables and was entirely unsurprised to meet Draco’s eyes from across the hall. The Slytherin, covert as usual, gave him the barest nod before returning to his solitary breakfast. “That has nothing to do with the match,” He muttered, neatly dodging the question.

“It’s important to check up on my team’s wellbeing,” Ginny said solemnly. “Boyfriend troubles will make you play worse. Trust me, I know,” She added, and Harry believed her.

“If you must know, we’re just fine.” Harry left it at that, and stiffly raised a glass of orange juice to his lips. In reality, he spoke only half the truth. _Draco_ was fine - or seemed to be. But the six days of silence from Ron and Hermione had taken its toll on Harry himself, more than he wanted to admit. 

Ginny saw right through him, as usual, but she seemed reluctant to press. She brushed her crumb-adorned hands off on a napkin and said, “Are _you_ okay?”

_No._ “Yes.” Harry closed his eyes for a moment, wishing she’d leave him alone. He didn’t need anyone fretting over him right now. He needed the wind in his hair, cold fingers around a broomstick, low-hanging clouds cooling his face as he squinted for the Snitch. Anything to distract him from his life on the ground.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Ginny relented. “See you out there, Harry.” She gave him a reassuring smile before sliding from the bench, fiery hair swishing down her sweater-clad back as she walked away.

A light drizzle had begun to fall when the spectators filled in the bleachers of the Quidditch pitch. Harry, fully dressed, nervously tugged at his gloves, glancing from the overcast sky to the crowds of students settling into their seats, from the dewy grass to the other six members of his team that milled about near the dressing room. Ginny spoke with the other two Chasers, Willow and Danny, tracing golden play patterns in the air with her wand. The Beaters, Richie and Eleanor, stretched out their arms and practiced swinging their bats while chatting. Quinn, the Keeper, stood close by, watching the goal hoops with such intensity one might think she was trying to set them on fire by sheer force of will.

Harry had just cast an Impervious Charm on his glasses when someone muttered, “Potter.”

Harry flinched but didn’t turn around, leaning casually on his broom. “Are you wearing the Cloak?”

Draco made a _tsk_ noise. “No. My magic is good enough.” Something warm settled on Harry’s shoulder, and he resisted the urge to turn. “Nervous?”

“Not really. Do you think I should be?”

“Seeing as I don’t play Seeker for Hufflepuff, no.”

“Ha, ha.” The hand drifted from his shoulder and came to rest on the nape of his neck, fingertips grazing dark locks.

“Your hair’s getting long.”

“Is that why you turned invisible and snuck down here? To criticize my hair?”

“No, I like it,” Draco said seriously. “And I came to say…good luck, I suppose.”

Harry grinned. “Why, ’cause I’ll need it?”

Draco sighed dramatically. “ _No_ , Potter, because I’m cheering you on. Let me be nice.”

“All right.” Harry wanted to put his arm around his transparent silhouette, but Ginny and the others were much too close.

The hand left his hair. “Well. Catch the Snitch for me, won’t you?”

“I will.”

A sudden breeze rustled the spectators’ scarves, the red and yellow robes, and the nearby trees. Ginny dissipated the suspended patterns she’d made, then tucked her wand back into the holster in her boot. Harry watched, idly, as Ginny moved behind Willow, helpfully tying her cornrows into a ponytail as the younger girl adjusted her gloves.

“D’you think you’ll play Quidditch again?” Harry asked, but the ensuing silence told him he was speaking to empty space. A bit sheepishly, Harry walked towards the rest of the team, watching Madam Hooch float the ball box to the center of the field.

“Get the Snitch as soon as possible,” Ginny muttered to him as the two teams mounted their brooms. “I’m sure we’ll pull ahead. But if we don’t…”

“Catch it before they demolish us,” Harry finished.

“Right.”

Droplets pelted the flyers as they rose into the air, the flow growing steadily heavier as Madam Hooch raised the whistle to her lips. Harry watched the Snitch disappear into the far reaches of the arena, and with the piercing chirp that signaled the game, he immediately sped after it. The wind whistled sharply in his ears, the blurred colors of scarlet, yellow, and black moving around him as he flew. Adrenaline pulsed through his bloodstream, his heart racing; in the air, Harry felt alive, and free, and untroubled.

He tried not to think about how long that feeling would last.

• • •

Cheers erupted throughout the stadium as Harry landed back on the grass, golden Snitch gripped tight in his fingers. 

“Final score: Two hundred twenty to sixty, Gryffindor!” Shouted the Ravenclaw commentator over the din. “A well-fought match to be sure. That brings Gryffindor in the lead for the Quidditch Cup, with Slytherin in second…”

But what the commentator said next, Harry did not hear, because Ginny was shouting, “We won! We won! This is it, final stretch, everyone…!” Willow, Danny, Richie, Eleanor, and Quinn were all slapping each other on the back, congratulating, “Nice save on that last shot!” “You three were _amazing_ , honestly…” And to Harry’s surprise, hands patted his shoulders as well, sweat- and rain-stained faces beaming at him. “Good catch, Potter!” 

“We’re bound to win the Cup now, I’m sure of it!” Ginny exclaimed to Harry, punching the air as their huddle broke apart. “Merlin, what a rush. Luna!” She said suddenly as a blonde-blue blur streaked across the field. Ginny dropped her broom into the grass, and Luna ran straight into her arms. 

“You did brilliantly, sweetheart,” Luna said breathlessly, silver eyes shining. Her arms still flung around Ginny’s neck, she gave Harry a smile over the redhead’s shoulder. “You too, Harry.” 

“Thank you,” Harry replied, and he meant it, though his eyes were scanning the crowd spilling from the stands. Who he was looking for, he couldn’t be sure. 

That’s when he spotted them, and the smell of ozone became razor-sharp in his lungs, his vision tunneling through the mist. Ron’s lanky frame towered over the crowd, the bush of Hermione’s hair bobbing at his shoulder. Luna and Ginny were chatting in each other’s arms, so Harry didn’t feel bad about leaving them. He wove through the throng, broomstick in hand, ignoring the soreness in his muscles, sprinting after the two figures heading towards the castle.

“Ron! Hermione!”

Eight years of hearing their names from Harry’s lips caused the couple to look over their shoulders and see him. Blue and brown met emerald, briefly. Hermione frowned, shoving her hands into her pockets. Ron’s expression was bitter as he gently reached across her shoulders. They both faced forward and continued walking towards the castle.

The euphoria Harry had felt on the field broke, cracking like glass in his chest. He slowed, dragging his broom, panting slightly from running and adrenaline and desperation. At the sight of their retreating backs, something in Harry’s mind gave in; he couldn’t wait and fruitlessly hope for Ron and Hermione to come back. Already, a week without them was wearing him out. _I can’t think about them all the time,_ Harry realized. He had to move on, as much as possible. _Or else it’ll hurt even more if they leave forever._

“Good game.”

“Thanks,” Harry muttered, though perhaps he didn’t sound as grateful as he should have, because Draco raised an eyebrow. He stood a few feet away, facing forward, green-striped scarf hidden beneath his black overcoat. 

“You don’t sound happy about it.”

“I am,” Harry said unconvincingly. “It’s great that we won, but…” He stopped, unexpectedly choking on the words. 

“They’ll come back,” Draco told him, with such certainty that Harry almost believed him. 

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Draco shrug. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

• • •

The windows of the library seemed to be doused in liquid gold as the sun disembarked. Four students sat in one corner behind a heavily stocked shelf, their books open and ignored. Typically, at this time of day, they’d be either bent studiously over their work, eager to get it finished, or outside, blowing it off completely. But for a few minutes, the essays and compact passages had been put aside. 

“I knew you’d get pissed off,” Ginny was saying, her forehead scrunching in dismay. 

“I’m not-” Harry sighed, crossing his arms. “Did he at least say why?”

“It’d take all day for him to list the reasons,” Draco said dryly, absently fiddling a quill between his pale fingers. “He probably thinks I’ll try seducing you next,” He told Ginny.

“I’m _gay_.”

“So am I, but that won’t stop your brother from being overprotective.” 

“Or being a prick,” Harry muttered. 

“That’s not very nice,” Luna said dreamily, busy sketching a fairy in her notebook. 

“Well, he’s being stupid,” Harry stated firmly. Ginny had recently told them that Ron had asked her to stop talking to Draco - and by extension, though he hadn’t said it explicitly, Harry, since the two of them spent so much time together. “Ron’s being stupid, don’t you think?” Harry repeated, directing the question at Ginny. “I mean, telling you who you can’t hang out with.” 

Ginny folded her arms. “He didn’t commandme, but yeah. Ron must be taking the piss if he thinks he can control my life. Besides, Malfoy’s not dangerous.” 

“Not to you,” Draco said, a bit ominously. Ginny squinted at him. “Well, if I did have a mind to attack you, which I don’t, I’m sure you’d put up a good fight anyway.” 

“Are you suggesting I wouldn’t win?” Ginny dared. 

“Let’s not test that theory,” Harry said hastily, holding his hands up for peace as Draco opened his mouth to retort. “So… _will_ you stop talking to us?” 

“No.” Ginny hesitated. “But I have a feeling Ron will start making a bigger fuss if I don’t. Maybe-” 

“Well, that’s our friendship scuppered,” Harry said sarcastically. “Can’t say a word to each other if it’ll hurt Ronnie’s finer feelings.” 

Ginny glared at him. “Will you let me finish?” 

“Sorry,” He mumbled. 

“Uh-huh. Anyway, I was thinking…maybe you two ought to find more friends.” 

Draco’s eyes glittered in the setting sun as they focused on Ginny. “What are you implying?” 

“Don’t you think it’s kind of weird you only hang out with us?” 

“No,” Harry said. “It shouldn’t be weird.” 

“She has a point,” Draco put in, and Ginny blinked at him, surprised they’d agree on something. “When I was...well, popular, I had lots of friends. Not many close ones, but it was still useful to have multiple people to talk to for all my problems.” 

Harry considered this. “That works for some people, I guess. I’ve always been fine with having just Ron and Hermione to talk to.” He frowned. “Until now. But I’m friends with Dean and Seamus, and I write to Neville.” 

“You write to Longbottom?” Draco asked. “Since when?” 

“Er, I _occasionally_ write to Neville. What I’m trying to say is, I have plenty of friends.” 

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “Right. When’s the last time you actually had a full conversation with Dean or Seamus?”

Harry tugged at his collar, nervously. “Er… I’m sure I’ve talked to him about homework at some point this week…”

“And do either of them know you’re dating Draco Malfoy?”

“No, but-”

“I rest my case.” 

Luna raised her hand for attention. In her lap, the fairy sketch lay, the detailed figure complete with patterned wings and pointed ears. “Draco needs a bigger social circle than you do, Harry.” 

Draco looked startled. “I do?” 

“He does?” Harry said.

“Up ’til sixth year, you had…hmm, let me see,” Luna began to count on her fingers, “Gregory, Vincent, Pansy, Blaise, Theodore, Henrietta, Anaya, Marcus, Fuller, and Harper. Were you friends with Mafalda?”

“Not really,” Draco squeaked, eyes wide. “How do you know all these people…?”

“Ten friends!” Luna held up her fully-extended fingers, apparently pleased all the names had fit perfectly. “Now you’re down to…well, do you consider Ginny a friend?” 

Draco and Ginny exchanged a cautious glance. “Yes,” Draco said slowly.

“Three,” Luna concluded, putting down seven fingers. “And would you say you’re happy? Compared to three years ago?”

The look in Draco’s eyes was comparable to a caged animal. Harry could feel the tension in his body without even touching him.

“I’m not happy.” 

Pain shot through Harry’s chest at the words, mostly because of how much they resonated with truth. He almost reached for Draco’s hand, but as he hesitated, Draco clasped both of them tightly in his lap.

Luna softened. “I’m sorry to hear that. Since you’re such a social butterfly and all…”

Draco tilted his head curiously, probably not used to someone describing him as any kind of butterfly. 

“…I was thinking, maybe it would help to have more people around you. Not necessarily to share your wildest hopes and dreams with, but you know. More people to talk and listen to.” 

“That would help.” Hope tinged Draco’s words and face for a moment, but then he shook his head. “But I - I don’t think I can.” 

“What do you mean, Draco?” Harry asked quietly. 

“I mean…” Draco glanced at the floor. “No one from my house likes me. Except maybe Henrietta, but Pansy won’t let her get close to me. Slytherins have always had a hard time making friends with other houses. And people still know me as a Death Eater. You might not notice it so much, Potter, but everyone here treats me like the Dark Mark is contagious. Like _I’m_ contagious.” His jaw clenched. “Do you know what that’s like? To be constantly hated and feared by anyone who recognizes you?”

Silence settled like a blanket of snow between the bookshelves. Luna shook her head. Ginny stared at Draco, something like pity living in her eyes. 

“I haven’t,” Harry said finally. “But I can see it’s hurting you. Let me help you, Draco. Talk to me about your day, let me know if anyone’s been bullying you. I want you to be happy.” _More than anything in the world,_ He almost said but held his tongue. Harry knew how Draco felt about public displays of affection - Merlin forbid he say something so sentimental, even in front of only Luna and Ginny. 

Draco closed his eyes, took a breath, then opened them. “Okay. Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty dialogue-heavy, especially compared to its non-dialogue bits. I think as time goes on, I'm spending less time describing and more time focusing on pure character interactions. Still, I should keep in mind that there are more ways to show motivations and desires for characters than simply words or communications. Just goes to show that writing is a constant learning experience!


	35. Euphoria, Part Two

[Reader’s Warning: The following chapter contains mild sexual themes and undertones. Nothing to warrant an Explicit (AO3)/Mature (ff.net, or Wattpad in terms of sexual content) rating but continue with caution.]

Stifling warmth, born of magic and lukewarm sweat, filled the Room of Requirement’s vaulted ceilings and stone walls. Spells flew in multicolored sparks, occasionally accompanied by pops, bangs, and light vapors. On either side, two young men panted, their sleeves rolled up in battle, and wands raised. 

“ _Flipendo!_ ” Harry cried, seemingly on accident, since he looked furious at himself moments later. Draco slashed his wand upward, blocking the spell effortlessly. 

Smirking, Draco raised a finger to his lips. If they hadn’t been dueling, he might have said something like, _“Know what nonverbal means, Potter?”_ But ever since he’d gotten the hang of silent magic, Draco disciplined himself to remain speechless in combat. No frustrated shouts, no exclaims of disbelief, no taunts, which Harry probably found odd. It was hard not to say anything during their friendly battles, especially with Harry making mistakes every other exchange. Draco could admit that his boyfriend was a talented fighter, but he simply lacked the skill and experience to best him. 

Their evening practices did help a little. Professor Dahlia had been pushing the class harder than ever in nonverbal dueling, and except for Draco and Hermione, no one met her standards. So Draco had taken it upon himself to help Harry improve on his combat magic. They’d spent hours in the Room of Requirement doing their homework all week, sparring, then, if they weren’t too tired, talking. Draco could tell Harry wanted to use the time together to get Draco to open up: about what exactly, he wasn’t sure. His life outside their happy, hidden bubble, his time as a Death Eater, maybe even his childhood. 

And Draco did not want to talk about his childhood. 

Thankfully, their training sessions doubled as a distraction for Harry and mostly shielded Draco from prying questions. 

Harry unsteadily raised his wand, reluctant to strike again after his slipup. Draco took the opportunity, firing a wordless Stinging Jinx across the room. Harry yelped and ducked in the nick of time, the yellow jet riffing his black hair. 

_He’s off-guard now_ , thought Draco, and already another jinx was in his mind. He twisted his wrist, feeling the magic leaving his fingertips, the mentally shouted incantation sparkling through the unicorn hair at the core, just like it always did… 

**_Kill her._ ** ****

The voice rose, high, merciless, and unbidden in Draco’s mind, and a sudden rush of cruelty overtook him; he gave an involuntary, guttural shout as the jinx zoomed towards his opponent. Harry flicked his wand, his lips silently forming the word _Protego._ The spell flickered faintly, but Draco’s magic passed through it with ease and hit Harry’s torso, making him double over.

An unreasonable chill slithered down Draco’s spine - unreasonable because he’d used a mostly harmless Cease-Breath Hex. A few seconds passed, and Harry began gasping as his recently compressed lungs filled with air once more. 

“Nice hit, Malfoy,” Harry wheezed, clutching at his chest. “By which I mean, ‘ouch, that really hurts.’” Disgruntled, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and took deep breaths. 

“Don’t get soft on me,” Draco quipped, hoping Harry didn’t notice the quiver in his voice. Goosebumps raised across his pale skin, the inner left forearm tingling especially. _What the hell was that?_ Draco wondered, but he knew what it was. Lately, he’d heard those voices in the back of his head again, like his conscience speaking, except that particular voice sounded eerily like- “I saw your lips move for that last Shielding Charm,” Draco said sternly, pushing the thought cleanly from his mind. “Mouthing doesn’t help for a spell that common, Potter. You have to _think_ -” 

“I know!” Harry snapped harshly. Startled, Draco stopped abruptly. The look in Harry’s emerald eyes was far from furious, but their fire reminded Draco of when they were fourteen, always at each other’s throats. A small part of Draco thought anger was somehow an alluring look on Harry, but he mostly felt annoyed. Harry Potter might have been the Chosen One, but he lived in fantasy land if he thought he was the perfect fighter. 

_Setting up_ that _game, then?_ Draco thought, narrowing his eyes. _Fine. Let’s play._

“I mean, I appreciate your advice, but…” Harry started, but as far as Draco was concerned, it was too late for amends. 

“Up for another round, Potter?” Draco interrupted coldly. He paused to twirl his wand between his fingers. “Or do you _know_ you’ve got it?” 

Harry blinked, unsure at first. “Bring it on, Malfoy.” He raised his wand gamely. 

Leaving no room for a warning, his weapon moving like a viper, Draco shot a spell towards Harry, but instead of attempting a Shielding Charm, he simply dodged it. Gritting his teeth, Draco tried again, and this time Harry sidestepped it, grinning broadly. 

“Mother of…!” Draco hissed, then clammed up just as quickly. Wisely, he waited for Harry’s counterattack, and Harry did his best, beads of sweat breaking on his forehead from the effort of nonverbal magic. Draco blocked it and returned fire as fast as possible, opting for a more widespread hex that Harry surely couldn’t dodge. The Gryffindor had anticipated this, slashing his wand upwards with determination. The resulting Shield Charm neutralized the spell so perfectly even Harry looked surprised. _So,_ now _he can do it when I’m least expecting it._ Draco huffed. _Git._

The fight grew fiercer as it went on, Draco’s faster magic prompting Harry to focus enough for proper blocking spells or simply find more creative ways to dodge. Slowly he grew more confident, pressing forward, firing spells that Draco barely kept up with. As they fought, the room seemed to close in on them, shrinking, the surrounding torches dimming. It took a while for Draco to even notice, and when he did, he couldn’t help but recall how much it looked like the polished foyer in Malfoy Manor… 

The similarity jarred his focus, and Harry managed to hit him. Draco’s legs quavered like jelly, and he collapsed to his knees. _Crap._ He thought for sure Harry would finish him off, but he hesitated. 

**_Kill her now. Do it!_ ** ****

“No!” The Dark Mark twitched violently. Draco raised his wand, a hex flying with just the barest thought, responding to the sudden, savage tug in his chest. 

Several things happened in the span of a few seconds. 

The air crackled with energy and ozone, the walls trembling. Draco felt out of control, a magic that was not his own taking over. A bolt of lightning, fizzing with bright, pale violet, streaked down towards Harry, his green eyes widening. Draco couldn’t stop it, couldn’t do anything but watch helplessly. 

Harry screamed, and for a moment, his body glowed from the inside out. He fell to the ground like an abandoned marionette and was still. 

… 

“Hey,” Draco whispered. “That wasn’t - I didn’t…” His ears were ringing. 

Someone laughed, high and cold. But it was all in Draco’s head, all his own thoughts. Shock crashed over Draco like a tsunami, and he would have collapsed again if he hadn’t already been on his knees. 

_I was afraid this would happen._

He felt panicked, helpless, but another part, buried deep inside him like a spire of dark rock, felt victorious. The Boy Who Lived was dead. 

“No, he’s not,” Draco said aloud. “No, he’s _not_. Potter?” He got to his feet unsteadily, then without another moment’s hesitation, he sprinted towards his prone boyfriend. 

“What was that spell?” Draco muttered, trying to remember. Right: _Tempeto,_ Lightning Hex, typically not even a quarter as powerful as a real lightning bolt. But nothing felt typical about the situation. With trembling hands, Draco reached towards Harry, turning him over and pressing his palm to his forehead. The skin was feverishly warm, but not burned, which Draco took as a good sign. He moved his fingers to Harry’s neck, checking for a pulse. It was there, but faint and slow. “No. Think, Draco, think!” 

_What can I do? What do I have?_ “ _Accio_ potion!” Draco cried, and from his satchel across the room, a vial shot out and flew into his hands. He always carried a small dose of Healing Elixir, customarily applied on minor cuts and burns, but it could be ingested in emergencies. Draco uncorked it, then stopped, weighing the possibilities. The amount was only enough for one dose, and if it wasn’t strong enough to do the trick…Merlin, he was running out of time. 

“I need plants!” Draco shouted into the Room of Requirement. Ever since he’d restored it, he’d felt that there were presences here, an intelligence beyond ordinary magic. Unfortunately, the chamber did not respond. “So, that’s beyond your capabilities?” Draco asked bitterly, unwelcome tears pricking his eyes, “But killing someone is perfectly okay? Fuck, what do I need? Be specific,” Draco muttered to himself. “Mint or heather would be nice!” He called again, growing more impatient and worried by the moment. Harry’s body remained limp, his chest rising shallowly. “Now, you son of a…!” 

A sudden explosion of vegetation as the room swelled in size. The sharp, spicy scent of multiple blooms and herbs filled Draco’s senses. He gasped as grass rushed suddenly beneath them, carpeting the floor in green. Flowers and bushes of all kinds, chaotically arranged as if to mirror his thoughts, surrounded them. 

“Thanks,” Draco mumbled, though who he was thanking, he wasn’t sure. He looked around for mint, spotted a patch nearby, and quickly plucked a few sprigs. “ _Diffindo Minima,_ ” He said, pointing his wand at the leaves, and they promptly minced themselves. Draco carefully poured the mint into the vial of potion, then hastily shook it. The liquid changed from a smooth caramel color to bubblegum pink. Draco eyed it nervously, but it’d have to do. 

“Here goes nothing.” He guided Harry’s jaw open and poured the whole thing down his throat. 

A few tense moments passed. 

Harry coughed, his emerald eyes fluttering open. “Ow.” 

“Oh, thank Merlin,” Draco exclaimed, and without thinking, he flung himself on Harry’s chest, holding him close, hearing the beautiful, strong heartbeat thudding within. 

“Hey,” Harry said hoarsely, surprised. “What’s going on?” 

“I thought for sure I lost you,” Draco said under his breath. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the warmth of Harry’s skin, noticing how much he smelled of life. Around them, a wind sighed through the plants. 

Disoriented, Harry nevertheless returned Draco’s embrace, and for a few minutes, there was only comfortable silence, punctuated by their breathing and the rustling of the flora. 

“Draco, what happened?” Harry asked, stirring, and Draco let go of him, allowing him to sit up. Harry furrowed his brow and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead as if trying to knead out a headache. “That was…that was your magic, right? You attacked me?” 

Pale hands splayed on Draco’s knees, and he stared at them. “Yes. No. I mean…” He glanced at his hawthorn wand, tossed in the grass a few feet away. Draco shuddered, remembering the commanding voice in his head. He thought he was free of it, could finally move on from those dark years under _his_ control. But there was something off about… “The Room of Requirement,” Draco stated, the words restless on his tongue. “It’s not the same, is it?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Since the fire, it seems more…powerful. Alive, almost.” 

“Well…” Harry pensively ran a hand through his hair. “I think you’re right about it being more powerful. But what do you mean, alive?” 

“It’s hard to explain,” Draco said, trying to put his thoughts into words. “Just listen.”

Harry looked upwards, where the vaulted ceiling was draped in kudzu vines. For a few moments, they both strained their ears, listening to the plants rustle in the phantom wind. But in the background, Draco thought he heard something else: voices, whispering and muttering from right behind a curtain. 

“Do you hear that?” 

Harry squinted, looking around the room. “I think…maybe. Not really. What do you hear?” 

“Voices,” Draco said, rubbing his arms. “Different from the ones I usually hear,” He added offhandedly. 

Harry blinked. “What?” 

“Never mind,” Draco said quickly, pretending to admire a nearby bush of rosemary to avoid looking into Harry’s eyes. “Forget I said anything.” 

“You can tell me.” 

Draco bit his lip, afraid to open up. But if he couldn’t trust Harry, who else did he have? “Ever since the war,” He began, “Whenever I’m upset, or having a nightmare…I start hearing voices. Not often, and they’re sort of like my conscience speaking to me, you know? But they sound like other people. Bellatrix or my father, telling me how worthless I am. My mother giving me advice. And the worst one…” He broke off, tensing. 

“Voldemort,” Harry said. 

The whispers seemed to rise in volume. Draco shuddered; though it hadn’t been long since he’d heard the name, he didn’t want to right now. Not here, where it held power. Not here, where Crabbe had burned alive, and where Draco had fought for an insincere, malicious cause that ripped his family apart. 

Harry seemed to pick up on Draco’s discomfort, because he said, “Sorry. You-Know-Who. So…was that who you heard?” 

“Yes.” 

“I see. Maybe it’s schizophrenia?” Harry muttered to himself. 

“Schiza, what now?” 

“Oh, it’s a Muggle illness-” 

“No,” Draco cut in before Harry could explain, “I don’t think it’s that. Although I’m not positive it’s entirely magical, either.” He rubbed his left forearm anxiously. “It might have something to do with, you know…my past experiences.” _As a Death Eater,_ he didn’t say, but knew Harry would pick up on it. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Harry asked gently. 

Draco shrugged dejectedly. Where would he even begin? The first time he saw the Dark Lord, he glided like the worst kind of ghost into Draco’s living room, poisoning the house with his whispered words and that detestable snake. Or perhaps Draco could tell Harry about when the insignia was burned into his skin, making him cry out in pain as masked faces looked on. But what had that voice said, that fateful night, echoing years later? 

**_Kill her._ **

“There was a girl,” Draco blurted before he could stop himself. He winced, wondering if talking about it was a good idea, but it was too late. Harry leaned forward attentively. “I think it was around November when the Snatchers found her.” The words caught in his throat like barbed wire, but he clenched his fists and pushed on. “She wasn’t the first Muggle-born that we - _they_ took care of. But You-Know-Who brought her himself into the house. He said he was disappointed in me for not killing Dumbledore, so he wanted to give me a second chance with this girl they found.” 

**_Fodder, Draco. Someone who made no difference in her miserable life, save for stealing magic that was not her own. Surely there is no guilt in ridding the earth of such a wretch._ **

“I didn’t do it at first.” 

Harry’s eyes widened at that, and he opened his mouth as if to interrupt, but decided against it. 

“I…I tortured her. But I refused to kill her.” Draco tried to focus on the green of the grass, trying to erase the image of Voldemort’s red eyes, gleaming viciously in the dark. “And then…” He stopped. 

Harry let a whole minute pass before he asked, “And then?” 

“Then…” The reality, not of the event, but the fact that he couldn’t remember the rest of it, came crashing upon Draco. He recalled pain, immense pain. A flash of green light. The girl’s corpse dragged outside by an eager Greyback. But the spaces in between …nothing. Dark and indecipherable, like a bottleful of ink spilled so thoroughly across writing, no one could know what it had said. “I d-don’t know!” Draco whimpered, trembling violently. _Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry,_ He repeated the mantra, but hot tears welled in his eyes. “She was - she was on the ground, and I refused, and he - I don’t know - he _hurt_ me…And all I know is that she _died_ , and it must have been me that did it.” 

“No, Draco,” Harry said, taking both his hands. “You can’t have. He must have done it himself.” 

“ _My wand killed her!_ ” Draco wailed, hyperventilating with the effort of trying to stop the tears that spilled down his pale cheeks. “I ch-checked it, and there it was, _Avada Kedavra,_ that wand! That wand, Potter!” Draco jerked his head towards the weapon lying in the grass. “ _My_ wand. I’m a murderer. I’m a fucking _murderer_ , and Pansy’s right, I d-do belong in Azkaban, and I could be an Auror for fifty years, and it wouldn’t matter, I’m just as bad as the others-”

“Draco, stop,” Harry said softly, “Breathe. Breathe. It’s not your fault.” 

“H-how is it not my f-fault?” Draco demanded, speaking through sobs. 

“You could have been under the Imperious Curse. He could have picked up your wand.” 

“N-no, you don’t understand,” Draco said, and despite the guilt that tumbled through his brain, he started to follow Harry’s advice, trying to take deeper breaths. “I’m _capable_ of murder, Potter. You won’t believe me when I say it, but I’m a bad person.” Draco yanked his hands out of Harry’s grasp and struggled to his feet. “I shouldn’t even be here with you. I keep telling myself I want this, that I want you, and I do, but it’s selfish. Someone like me shouldn’t be with you.” 

“Don’t say that,” Harry said, standing as well, his emerald eyes glittering fiercely in the torchlight. He took Draco’s face gently in his hands, fingers brushing against his damp cheeks. “Listen. I don’t spend time with you just because I think you deserve me. I date you because I like you.” 

“And why on Earth would you like me?” Draco asked tearfully. 

“Because…” Harry met his gaze unswervingly, green eyes glittering with sincerity. “Because of who you are. Because of how, even if you don’t realize it, you’re willing to give yourself a chance by being friends with me. I like you because of how you light up whenever you’re talking about Potions and go on these long tangents that go over everyone’s heads because you’re so damn smart and passionate. I like how you tap your quills against the desk when you’re concentrating. I like how you say what’s on your mind around me. You can make me laugh, but it’s even better when _you_ laugh - it’s adorable. I mean, it really makes my day. And I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this,” Harry glanced to the side, embarrassed, “But you’re seriously attractive. Especially when you smile. I kind of stop what I’m doing just to watch you. 

“I know you’re not perfect, you’re not innocent. I can see guilt inside you all the time. It’s eating you up inside.” Harry frowned, his voice breaking, but he cleared his throat and continued. “But you get up, every day, and try to change, try to be nicer. Because you’re a strong person, Draco. And you’re doing your best, which is all anyone can do.” 

All he spoke was the truth. Of course, Draco _wanted_ to be a good person. But… “That doesn’t change the fact I killed someone.” 

Harry shook his head forcefully. “You didn’t. You know how I know that?” He moved his hand, pressing it right over where Draco’s heart was. “Murder rips souls apart. And yours is whole and…and beautiful.” 

Pale purple heather, viridescent basil, snow-white carrot blossoms, the dark blush in Harry’s cheeks. Color bloomed in the scenery, and Draco finally started to let himself believe the words from his lover’s lips, persuasive as they were. 

Draco smiled, albeit a bit tearfully. “You’re a great big sap, you know that?” 

Harry chuckled and pulled him close. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist, his chin nestling in the crook of his neck, his eyes sliding closed in exhaustion and relief. “Good, I see you’re back to normal,” Harry joked. Then, quietly, in Draco’s ear, “I love you.” 

Draco’s heart ran amok in his chest, and he opened his eyes in shock. _“I love you”?_ How could anyone ever love him, after all this time, after all he’d done? But as he replayed Harry’s words in his mind, Draco knew he wasn’t lying. An unfamiliar kind of joy filled him with warmth, and he savored it.

Pulling back, Draco briefly met Harry’s eyes before leaning forward. Their lips met with all the tenderness of two people who understood and cared for each other, but quickly there was something else, the same kind of desperation and desire for closeness that had brought them together in the first place. Draco no longer felt faint when Harry’s tongue parted his lips, but only moaned slightly, involuntarily, noticing with interest that he tasted of mint. As he was wont to do, Draco tangled one hand in Harry’s messy, damp-with-sweat locks, the other gripping the back of his shirt as if begging to tear it to shreds. 

Finally, the need for oxygen yanked their eager mouths apart, warm breaths mingling. Draco opened his eyes, taking in the sight of Harry, those half-closed gorgeous eyes peering through dark lashes, light brown skin flushed with pink. His wrists crossed behind Draco’s neck, and his chest, Draco imagined, was slick with sweat and taut with muscle behind those blasted buttons. He had half a mind to undo them and was on the verge of doing so when Harry did something unexpected. The savior of the wizarding world ran his tongue along Draco’s bottom lip, so teasingly and casually that Draco became instantly aroused. 

“Oh, um…” Draco grabbed Harry’s shoulders and guided their bodies apart, suddenly aware of how vulnerable he was, without bulky robes to hide anything. 

“I forgot,” Harry said apologetically, blushing furiously as he straightened his glasses. “You want to take things slow.” 

“N-no, it’s not that,” Draco stammered. _Oh, for Merlin’s sake,_ He scolded himself, _You’re a bloody adult. Act like one!_ “You know, I’m not at all experienced,” Draco confessed stiffly. 

Harry laughed, and at the affronted look on Draco’s face, said, “I’m not laughing at you. Merlin knows I have no idea what I’m doing, either. But we can figure things out together.” He gave him a sweet, reassuring kiss. 

“Well, if we’re going to do ‘things,’ let’s go somewhere else,” Draco suggested, releasing Harry’s shoulders. “As much as I love snogging in creepy magic gardens…” 

“Understood,” Harry said solemnly, slipping a hand into Draco’s. “Broom closet?” 

Draco squinted at him. “I think we can find something between a broom closet and this place,” He said, indicating the Room of Requirement with its greenery-covered, cathedral-high ceilings, and a floor space easily half an acre. 

“Fair point, darling,” Harry said, flicking his wand at their belongings some feet away. “ _Accio._ ” Their clothes and satchels flew into his hands, and he handed Draco his paraphernalia. 

“Starting with endearments now, are we?” Draco asked as they headed for the door. 

“Only if you like them, sweetheart.” 

“Not particularly.” 

“You sure, treasure?” 

“Potter,” Draco said warningly, but he couldn’t help but smile when Harry tried and failed to stifle a giggle. 

When they reached the door, Harry’s face fell slightly, and he started to let go of Draco’s hand. Draco tightened his hold. 

“It’s fine,” Draco reassured him, “Hardly anyone’s around this time of night.” 

Harry beamed. “All right. Let’s go.”

As the door swung open into the deserted hallway, Draco’s heart sped up at the promise of sneaking around with Harry. As much as he disliked hiding, there was something indescribably thrilling about doing something they weren’t supposed to, walking briskly down the hallway after hours, the torchlight flickering across Harry’s face, hands entwined. They found an empty classroom soon enough and slipped inside, Harry laughing and Draco shushing him as he locked the door with his wand. 

After the ordeal he’d been through today, Draco felt that discovering something new with the boy he adored was precisely what he needed. As Harry grasped his tie and pulled him close, hands falling to his waist, their lips connected, and for the first time in ages, Draco tasted euphoria. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, what an emotional rollercoaster! I like to think of this chapter as a sort of microcosm for the story in its entirety: conflict, reconciliation, found trust, and - hopefully! - a happy ending. Also, I've been writing from Draco's perspective more lately. Obviously, Harry's the main character here, but it's interesting to dive into a darker, more troubled psyche once in a while, especially when it comes to more emotionally vulnerable moments like these. Originally, I actually started writing this scene from Harry's point of view, but I like this version better. (I did save the original bit, which I have saved in a deleted scenes document that will be available at the end of the story.)


	36. Light & Shadow

Two students, one lanky, redheaded, and pale, the other short, bushy-haired, and darker, walked down the corridor side by side. The girl’s arms strained against a pile of books, but the boy’s hands were in his robe pockets. 

He felt guilty about that. 

“Love, I can help carry those,” Ron offered kindly. 

“I’m fine, thank you, though.” Hermione sounded genuinely grateful, but Ron noticed the despondent undertone in her voice. She seemed a little sad these days, ever since their row with Harry. Well… _his_ row with Harry. Ever since the beginning, Ron had couldn’t entirely trust Malfoy for cozying up with who was supposed to be _his_ best friend. And that friendship had turned into something more, something which Ron believed to be a pretense orchestrated by Malfoy. In the days following Harry’s confession, Ron had wondered whether the disgust he felt was because of homophobia, but that wasn’t the case. He would be okay with Harry dating pretty much any age-appropriate bloke they knew - but _Malfoy_ wasn’t appropriate in any sense.

Why, _why_ did Harry choose that slimy, no-good Slytherin? Besides being straight as a white oak wand, Ron didn’t know Malfoy terribly well - not that he wanted to - so he couldn’t say he was attractive. His personality was awful, to say the least. True, he did become a bit nicer this year… _But it still doesn’t change the seven years of him being a total wanker,_ Ron told himself firmly. Maybe Harry was attracted to Malfoy’s talent? Ron wouldn’t dare admit that Malfoy was smart, but he knew things about potions that went over _Hermione’s_ head. Almost nothing went over Hermione’s head. 

Ron’s train of thought was interrupted by a loud thump as Hermione plopped her stack of volumes onto the Gryffindor table. Around them, Hogwarts’s dining hall buzzed with activity, students milling about, chatting, or sitting down to eat lunch. 

“What are those for, anyway?” Ron asked, grabbing one before it knocked over a tureen of gravy. 

“End-of-year paper,” Hermione replied as she searched through the collection for a suitable title. She picked out a thick, red-leather-bound tome, flipped through the pages, sat down, and began to read. As an afterthought, she reached for sliced bread and a piece of cheese, awkwardly assembling a simple sandwich over the table without looking up from the pages. 

Ron organized the other, spilled books into a neat stack before reaching for his own plate. He waited for a few minutes for Hermione to say something, but she only continued to turn pages with her left hand, munching the sandwich with her right. These days, Ron reflected, Hermione seemed to be throwing herself more into her schoolwork - and subsequently spending less time with him. 

“We’ve got ages before that paper’s due, love,” Ron told his girlfriend. 

Hermione finally looked up, agitated. “It’s so hard to make progress with this topic!” She muttered. “Every time I answer a question, another one pops up.” She sighed, pulled out her wand, and traced it into the book’s spine, marking the page with a magicked lilac ribbon. “What kind of prejudices cause people, and by extension, governments to hate a certain group based on the way they love? Why is it so hard to pass legislation against these prejudices? And when it comes to LGBT rights, why are both the wizarding and Muggle worlds still living in the 19th century?” 

“Why are you stressing over it so much?” Ron asked, bemused at how anxious she seemed. “It’s not like we have to go that in-depth about it.” 

“I don’t know…it feels personal for me, somehow,” Hermione said as she grabbed another book off the top of the stack. “It might help me empathize with, you know…Draco and Harry.” 

Ron soured at their names and angrily stabbed at a slice of roast beef with his fork. “Who says Malfoy needs empathizing with?” So far, he and Hermione had skirted around the subject of Harry and his Death Eater beau, but apparently, she’d chosen today to break the silence. 

Hermione scowled at him. “He’s a human being, too. And come on,” She pressed, “Don’t tell me you don’t miss Harry.” 

Of course, he missed Harry. Every time Harry avoided his eyes in the dormitory, didn’t say hello to him before class, didn’t acknowledge him in the common room, Ron felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. Granted, he’d been to one to ignore Harry in the first place. But after two solid weeks of zero interaction, he’d seriously been starting to regret it. If Harry would only renounce Draco Malfoy’s affections, Ron would gladly welcome him back into their friendship. “I still can’t believe we actually gave that snake a chance,” Ron grumbled. “I let him into my house, Hermione. My house! Ugh,” He added as something occurred to him, “You think they shagged there or something?” He felt sick at the idea. 

Hermione’s face tinged with red. “It’s not any of our business,” She said adamantly, “Really, could you have any less tact?” 

“I thought you agreed with me,” said Ron, “That Malfoy’s up to something. No way he’s suddenly decided to like Harry after trying to get him killed less than a year ago.” 

“I did think it was strange,” Hermione relented, “But I’ve been thinking…maybe we jumped to conclusions. It would be hard for Malfoy to keep the charade up for all this time. Maybe they just genuinely like each other.” 

“If you’re so sure, why don’t you go talk to them?” 

“I said _maybe_ ,” Hermione said, folding her arms. 

“They’re right there,” Ron pointed out, and though he meant for the words to sound more assertive, his voice died slightly in his throat. 

Harry walked into the dining hall with his bag slung over one shoulder. He stood a few feet apart from Malfoy, who was pointedly trying not to look at him. Even halfway across the hall, Ron could read Harry’s expression clearly: green eyes crinkling at the edges as they watched his boyfriend, a content grin tugging at his lips. As the couple moved apart, Malfoy glanced over his shoulder and met Harry’s gaze, allowing himself a smile as well. The brief look they exchanged spoke volumes in a language only they seemed to understand, but Ron recognized its significance. He and Hermione looked at each other the same way. 

“You really think they’re faking that?” Hermione asked quietly as Harry sat down a little way from them, and Ron knew she must have been watching. 

“It’s entirely possible,” Ron said firmly, but a seed of doubt had already been planted in his mind, and there was no digging it out. 

• • •

[Reader’s Warning: The following scene contains non-explicit sexual content.] 

It was dark when Harry entered the boys’ dormitory, the only light glowing dimly from the green cracks in the wall and the burning furnace. Aboveground, the sun had only just set when Ginny concluded Quidditch practice. But down here, the dungeons lay dark, the moon having not yet reached its apex. 

Draco, rifling through a maroon and white pamphlet, sat cross-legged on his bed and glanced up when Harry came in. “Hello,” he greeted. 

“Hey.” Harry walked over to him and pressed a swift kiss to Draco’s lips before moving to his own bed, gently tucking the Nimbus beneath it. “How was your day?” 

“Fine. I finalized my career path with Slughorn,” Draco held up the Cambridge Auror Academy pamphlet as Harry began to unlace his Quidditch robes. 

“Which division did you end up choosing?” 

“International Crimes. You?” 

“Same,” Harry replied. 

“What a pleasant coincidence.” Draco’s lips twitched with the beginnings of a smile; both recalled perfectly well that Harry had told him what division he was aiming for before their career discussions. 

“Are you nervous?” Harry inquired, tugging at the edges of his jumper. “Oh, er, could you…” He twirled a finger, requesting for Draco to turn around while he changed. 

“So modest,” Draco said, smirking, and obligingly faced away. “And if you’re talking about me becoming an Auror in what some may call ‘indentured servitude,’” Sarcastic hand quotes, “then no. I’m not particularly nervous.” 

“You don’t have to do it, you know,” Harry said gently. Stripped to his pants, Harry knelt at the foot of his bed for pajamas. 

“Morally, I do, since the alternative is willfully letting my parents rot in Azkaban,” Draco stated ominously. “Besides, it’s not like I’m good for anything else.” 

“Don’t be stupid. You’re brilliant, you could have any job you want.” 

“Well, which is it? Am I stupid or brilliant?” Draco asked cheekily. 

“You know what I mean.” Harry pulled a T-shirt over his head and padded, barefoot, to Draco’s bed. He flopped down next to his boyfriend, who raised his eyebrow at the blasé movement. 

“You’re still sweaty,” Draco observed. 

Harry sat up, patting his messy hair, which was, in fact, damp. “Shall I take a shower?” 

Draco shrugged. “You don’t have to.” Up close, Harry noticed that the long-sleeved black shirt he was wearing had a scooped neckline, unlike the turtlenecks he usually favored. The hemline moved as his shoulders did, exposing the contour of his collarbone, pale skin almost glowing in the dim light.

“I want to show you something,” Draco said in a low voice, and Harry, still distracted, blushed, an idea of what the “something” could be popping into his mind before he could stop it. 

“What?” Harry said, quickly regaining his composure. 

Instead of replying, Draco reached over the side of the bed and grabbed his schoolbag. He rummaged through its contents, hand grasping something at the very bottom before resurfacing. Clutched between his fingers was a green-colored pin. 

Draco opened his hand, displaying the miniature illustration resting in his palm. A scarlet squid swam through dark, seaweed-lined water, its tentacles waving playfully. Harry hadn’t seen much of his Christmas present for Draco after said holiday, but he was glad Draco had kept it. 

“Neat. You know I’ve seen this before, right?” Harry said teasingly. 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Obviously. But look.” He polished the pin’s slightly dusty surface with his sleeve, then affixed it to one corner of his satchel. Then he stared at Harry expectantly. 

“Er, what?” 

“Well, I thought you might appreciate the symbolism.” 

“Right…” Harry squinted at him. “I still don’t get it.” 

Draco’s nose scrunched in agitation, which Harry would have found annoying a few years ago, but now the mannerism seemed adorable. “When we first started going out,” he explained, “I was…frankly, terrified of being discovered. So, when you gave me this,” Draco nodded at the pin, “I didn’t really want to wear it. I guess some paranoid part of me thought people would somehow know we’re together if they saw it or asked about it.” He took a deep breath. “But I’ve decided…I don’t care much anymore. Whether someone sees the pin or finds out about us. Granted, I’m not exactly eager to come out. But what I’m saying is…I’m willing to take the risk.” Draco opened his mouth to continue, then seemed to change his mind and kissed Harry instead. 

On a whim, Harry slipped his hand beneath Draco’s shirt and rested it on his waist, pulling him closer. As they broke apart, Harry let his hand linger, fingers tingling at the feel of warm skin. 

For a moment, the only sounds were deepened breathing and the crackle of the nearby furnace. Emerald green and warm orange shone in Draco’s mirrored gaze, and Harry found himself staring for what felt like an eternity; he could go swimming in those eyes. 

“So, does this mean you’ll stop being a prat to me in class?” Harry asked teasingly. 

Draco snorted. “I wouldn’t count on it. I still like you, though.” 

“Thank goodness for that.” Slowly, Harry slid his hand upward, his thumb brushing the edge of Draco’s ribcage. He leaned forward and began pressing light kisses on Draco’s skin, trailing from his jawline to that gorgeous collarbone. Draco’s breath hitched audibly, and Harry paused. “You okay? Do you want me to stop?” He murmured. 

In response, Draco grabbed the scruff of Harry’s T-shirt and tugged him down, both of them falling towards the bed. Harry caught himself on one forearm, his momentum bringing his surprised face inches away from Draco’s. 

Draco placed his hand on the back of Harry’s neck and pulled him close enough to hear him whisper. “Right now, Potter,” Draco murmured, his clipped yet treacle-sweet voice sending shivers down Harry’s spine, “You have permission to touch me anywhere.” 

_Anywhere._ It was Harry’s turn to feel flustered, his breath growing shallow as Draco shifted slightly, not-so-subtly raising his thigh to press between Harry’s legs. 

Harry chuckled under his breath, and he raised himself slightly to look his lover in the eyes, “When’d you get so lush, Draco?” 

Draco shrugged, no easy feat while lying down. “Guess you bring that out in me,” He replied, silver eyes glittering mischievously. “Oh - speaking of being out in the open…” Draco reached for his wand from his bag and cast muttered charms, drawing the curtains and plunging them into darkness. 

The pitch-black made Harry hyper-aware of his surroundings, and he sensed everything in high definition: the faint smell of gardenias, Draco’s tongue, slippery in his mouth, nails scraping Harry’s torso as he lifted his shirt. Draco sighed as Harry pressed him into the sheets, their fingers interlacing. Harry heard a slight thud as the pendant of his necklace fell to Draco’s skin, and he gasped at the sudden coldness of it; Harry kissed him reassuringly, then continued to move his lips, to his neck, his chest, down, down… 

Being a star Quidditch athlete and a relatively coordinated person, Harry rarely felt uncomfortable in his mortal skin, but this was the first time he’d ever shared that flesh with someone he truly loved. His movements seemed fluid and graceful, yet powerful and desperate, like the first real torrent of rain after a dry spell. And Draco…the curves of his body felt like pure paradise, and Harry ran his hands over every single one, not worshipping him, butknowing him as an equal, appreciating the immaculate vessel and the soul it housed, colored with both light and shadow. 

The moments they shared were fleeting, but Harry memorized them, etched them into his skin: Draco murmuring his name over and over like a song, the teenage awkwardness that soon gave way to rhythm, the heat between them that rose but never grew stifling. 

Later, when they were both flushed and smiling, but somehow unable to hold each other’s gazes for long, Harry returned to his own bed. It was easy, in the forgiving tranquility of the moonlit night, to imagine that Draco was still beside him, and the memory of his bright, silver eyes, his whispered, “Goodnight, Potter” lulled him to an untroubled sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter marks a new era of real trust between Harry and Draco - surely, they'll still have their obstacles as the relationship continues, but they've both taken important steps in being open and honest with each other, both emotionally and physically. 
> 
> I'm so glad to be back to WTSC after a month-long hiatus! (c. Aug-Sept 2020) The break was definitely what I needed; I wrote some original short stories and started a new Drarry fanfiction (it's not published yet and won't be for a while). But no worries, I'm still invested in this particular story. I want to take this time to thank everyone who's been following WTSC; 36 chapters and 100K+ words is a big commitment! A reminder, though, that there is more to come... In any case, I hope you enjoy the rest of the story, and that it continues to make you smile, make you think, and make you believe in love again.


	37. Filling the Void

Many nights of peaceful, dreamless sleep had blessed Harry lately; he could hardly believe his luck. So, naturally, it had to end with a loud bang and the acrid scent of smoke. 

“Help!” Harry shouted, puzzlingly, since he had no need for it. He bolted upright and tore back the bed hangings in a dazed attempt to search for the noise’s source. 

“What?” A few feet away, Ron met Harry’s eyes, his hands paused in the act of tying his trainers. Harry blinked, realizing that this was the first time his best mate had talked to him in weeks - even if it was a complete accident. This conclusion dawned on Ron, as well, and he scowled, the tips of his ears reddening as he bent firmly over his laces. 

Deciding this strange turn of events demanded his attention more than the smoky smell coming through the door, Harry said, “Sorry, I…Ron, can we…?” 

“Don’t.” His voice sounded choked as if he was about to cry. Quickly turning his face away, Ron stood from his bed, grabbed his bag, and left the room. 

Harry’s heart sank. He’d hoped Ron breaking his silence meant he was ready to talk. Then confusion crept in; why would Ron be crying? 

Another bang echoed from the outside. “What the…” Harry made for the door, grabbing his glasses on the way. He poked his head outside of the common room and witnessed pure chaos. A pair of younger students had set off a pile of Weasley’s Wildfire Whiz-Bangs, but they’d placed the rockets too close together, and the fireworks seemed to be exploding at random, out of their control. Slytherin students shrieked and rushed for the safety of the hallway or their dormitories as the colorful projectiles whizzed into the air, bursting when it came into contact with the wall or someone’s robes. Thankfully, no one seemed to be hurt just yet, but Harry slammed the door against the mayhem, heart hammering as he realized something. 

Weasley. Today was the first of April, George and Fred’s birthday. No wonder Ron seemed upset. 

Someone knocked at the door, and Harry hurriedly opened it. Draco quickly came in, brushing soot off his shoulders. “You’re still here?” He asked, patting his shiny hair to assess the damage. 

“Uh, yeah. I was sleeping. Am I late?” Harry noticed a gray feather clinging to Draco’s clothes, and he reached forward and plucked it off. 

“Oh - thanks. No, I suppose not.” Draco walked over to his nightstand, picking up a mirror and a comb. 

“Where’d you go?” 

“The Owlery.” Draco ran the comb through his hair a few times, eyeing himself critically. 

“Sending a letter?” Harry asked as he knelt by his trunk, rummaging for a clean uniform. 

“No, just wanted to visit Athena.” Satisfied, Draco put down the comb. “I know they’ve all got feeding trays, but it’s more fun to do it myself.” 

“Ah, that’s right, I forgot,” Harry teased, “Scary Draco Malfoy loves small animals.” 

“You’re impossible,” Draco sighed, rolling his eyes. He moved away from his bed, leaning against the post of Harry’s. “So what if I do?” 

“Nothing, it’s cute. Did I mention you look really nice today?” Harry added, batting his lashes. 

Draco smirked and opened his mouth to reply, but a particularly loud scream from the common room made them both flinch. “I appreciate the sentiment, Potter, but you should hurry. It’s quite hazardous out there.” He placed a pale hand carefully on the doorknob, listening for any explosions on the other side. 

“I’ll be careful,” Harry promised. “See you later, then.” 

Draco was absolutely right, of course; Harry had to perform some tricky maneuvering across the common room, ducking beneath blazing rocket trails and leaping to safety. He made it to the dungeon hallway mostly unscathed, flapping his sleeve to stop it from smoking. 

In the dining hall, Harry spotted Ginny sitting at the Ravenclaw table next to Luna with a couple of other girls. From this distance, he couldn’t tell whether Ginny was upset or not. Luna’s arm was around her shoulder. 

“Hey,” Harry greeted softly as he approached. Ginny looked up in surprise. Her eyes were puffy. The two other Ravenclaws eyed him warily but returned to their breakfast when Ginny jerked her head, wordlessly inviting him to sit. “You all right?” 

Ginny shrugged, her brown eyes swimming in dull melancholy. “Could be better,” She sighed. “There were a couple of kids playing around with Weasley’s stuff in the common room this morning. Reminded me of him, but…I guess he would have approved. Oh, I forgot,” Ginny realized Harry hadn’t met her companions yet, “This is Tabitha Nott and Cassandra Cheung. Tabs, Cass, this is Harry Potter.” 

“The Chosen One?” Cassandra, a bright-eyed, black-haired girl, reached her hand out. Harry took it a bit hesitatingly, and she shook his whole arm vigorously. Tabitha, a more reserved, bespectacled brunette, only nodded to him in recognition. 

“Er, just Harry’s fine,” Harry said bashfully, rubbing his sore arm. 

“Oh, sure, Just Harry,” Cassandra giggled, “And please, call me Cass.” She winked flirtatiously. 

Ginny cleared her throat, pointedly. Luna piped up, “You know, Harry’s got a b-” 

Harry whacked the table with his open palm, making them jump. “Broomstick! Yes, I’ve got a broomstick. For, er, Quidditch. Yeah. Seeker.” He loved Luna to bits, but she could be _too_ honest sometimes. Luna mouthed _oops_ and gave him an apologetic smile. 

“Cool! I play Seeker, too.” 

“Oh…er, neat.” 

“We were just talking,” Tabitha said, so quietly that Harry almost didn’t hear her, “About Fred Weasley. Did you know him?” 

“Did I know him?” Harry echoed. He remembered seven years ago, unsure of himself in the vastness of King’s Cross, holding a nonsensical ticket and laden with possessions he hardly knew how to use. He’d heard Molly Weasley’s voice first, cutting through the faceless crowd like a lighthouse beam of comfort, and seen the rest of the family, dressed in threadbare robes and holding beaten trunks. All six relatives seemed happy and carefree around each other, none of the children ever ducking for a scolding blow like Harry had at the Dursley’s. They glowed with warmth and familiarity, Fred among them, teasing his siblings and his mother, reassuring his sister along with George. Unexpected tears pricked Harry’s eyes as he realized, not for the first time, that the happy little unit would never again be whole. “Yes. He was a good friend of mine.” 

“Us, too,” Tabitha sighed, she and Cass exchanging a doleful glance. “We didn’t know him extremely well, but through Ginny.” 

“We were just talking about our favorite memories with him,” Cassandra told Harry. “D’you want to share yours?” 

“Oh... It’ll be hard to pick only one.” Harry stared at the ceiling, all the moments he’d shared with Fred and George blurring together in his mind. Practicing Quidditch with them, their welcome distractions during studious nights, snowball fights in the Hogwarts courtyard. As Harry learned to notice, Fred had been markedly different from his twin; a bit more sensitive, perhaps, and thoughtful towards him and Hermione, especially. Harry had often wondered if there’d been some sort of feelings between the two, one way or another, around fifth year. Perhaps the most memorable thing Harry could recall would be the time the twins gave him the Marauder’s Map - a glance at Ginny, and he felt his face heat up when he remembered how he used to watch her on the Map on late nights in the tent, while still on the hunt for Horcruxes. He couldn’t remember if she even knew about the Map, so he said, “I suppose…third year, he and George showed me how to sneak into Hogsmeade.” 

“Those two showed everyone to sneak around places,” Cass said with a nostalgic grin. “The true heroes Hogwarts never knew it needed.” Ginny smiled slightly at this. 

Luna raised her glass of pumpkin juice. “To Fred Weasley,” She said serenely, squeezing Ginny’s shoulder. 

“Fred Weasley,” Four voices repeated, clinking their cups together. 

The final few minutes of breakfast were spent in scattered, hushed conversation. Harry let the friends carry on, suddenly struck by how much he’d missed having company. Being around Draco was overall pleasant but exhausting at times. Harry found himself glancing across the hall at Ron and Hermione, who seemed engaged in similar discourse with Parvati, Dean, and Seamus. He missed them more than he could possibly articulate - if he’d let himself admit it. 

When the warning bell rang, Luna gave Ginny a comforting kiss - chaste, and certainly nothing to be scandalized about, though full on the lips. Harry glanced worriedly at Cassandra and Tabitha, but they didn’t bat an eye, which heartened him somewhat. He was glad that Ginny and Luna had found dependable, non-judgmental friends. 

Draco was waiting at the foot of the stairwell when Harry entered the main hall. His nose was buried in some sort of Potions history book, and he didn’t look up until Harry joined him. Together, they started up the stairs, and Draco dropped the volume into his satchel, openly adorned with the squid pin. 

“Did you know Fred?” Harry asked suddenly, slipping his hands into his pockets. 

“Weasley?” Draco raised an eyebrow. “Not well. My lot didn’t really get along with his. Why do you ask?” 

“Today was supposed to be his birthday,” Harry said as they started up another flight. “Him and George.” 

“Ah.” The silence felt awkward, and Harry nearly wished he hadn’t brought up the subject, when Draco said, “Do you want to talk about it? Weren’t you good friends with him?” 

“Yes, I was, but… I’m fine. I was thinking-” A loud scraping noise and an almighty jerk beneath their feet caught Harry off balance, and he teetered on the edge of a step as the flight of stairs began to move, swinging to the opposite side of the building. Draco, smartly holding onto the banister, swiftly placed a hand on the small of Harry’s back, steadying him. The touch filled Harry with warmth, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come, and Draco smoothly withdrew his hand, acting as if nothing had happened. “Thanks,” Harry murmured, his voice hidden by the surprised screams and gasps of younger students as the staircase came to an abrupt halt. 

“Mhm. You were saying?” 

“I just wish I could talk to Ron about it,” Harry confessed as they continued on their way, as calm and collected as the rest of the older students, who were used to the castle’s many shenanigans. “He seemed down this morning.” 

“Then talk to him,” Draco said matter-of-factly. “I don’t see what’s stopping you.” 

“You _know_ things haven’t been right between Ron and me since I told him and Hermione about us.” 

“So, fix it.” 

“It’s not that simple. I’m mad at them too.” 

“Still?” Draco seemed confused. “Why?” 

“What do you mean, ‘why?’ They’re supposed to be my friends, and they completely tossed me the minute I brought you into the equation.” 

“I dunno, Potter. That seems reasonable. I’d be mad if my friends dated someone like me, too,” Draco said pensively. “I’m awful.” 

“Don’t say that,” Harry said quietly, resting a hand on Draco’s arm. The Slytherin glanced furtively around the hall out of habit, but he didn’t pull away. 

“I simply meant from their perspective,” Draco amended, flustered. “Can’t we discuss this later?” 

Someone’s eyes burned on the back of his neck, distracting Harry, and he turned abruptly to see Hermione and Ron. Caught off guard, he didn’t answer Draco’s question, only watched as Hermione met his gaze, something like guilt glimmering in her eyes as Ron, next to her, pointedly stared straight ahead. 

“Yes, then,” Draco decided in Harry’s silence, and Hermione looked away. The volume of Harry’s classmates’ chatter rose in his ears as he felt himself moving towards the Charms classroom. 

Had Hermione been trying to get his attention? As the weeks passed, Hermione had seemed to focus on her schoolwork and her relationship with Ron. Harry thought she’d moved on. So why did she look at him like that, like she had something more to say? 

_You’ve made your decision,_ Harry thought as he settled into his seat, glancing at Hermione from across the room. _You and Ron both. Don’t pretend like you want anything to do with me anymore._

Harry’s silent words couldn’t cross the vast expanse between him and his fellow Gryffindors, but he thought them anyway. He bent his head over his parchment as Flitwick lectured, removing Hermione and Ron from his mind. Quill in hand, Draco’s warmth beside him, Harry let himself pretend that he didn’t miss them, for just a little while longer. 

• • •

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” 

The rush of students, the indiscernible murmurs, the curious eyes that gave a once-over to the Chosen One and ex-Death Eater standing side by side. Harry couldn’t blame Draco for being apprehensive, for hesitating in the doorway. He didn’t give an answer right away, and Draco didn’t wait for one. 

“They’re not stupid,” He murmured, silver gaze swishing back and forth like a predator’s. “We shouldn’t be together so often. I mean…” He bit his lip. “I know I said I’m ready, but this is too much, too fast.” 

“We just need to blend in,” Harry said comfortingly. He didn’t feel brave enough to hold Draco’s hand, so he reached out with his voice instead. “Some people around here are nicer than you think.” 

“Not to me.” Draco sounded firm, and Harry was about to argue until he said, “But fine. I trust you. What’s the plan, then?” 

“Follow me.” Ever since that morning, Harry had recognized a void in their lives, a space Ron and Hermione could no longer fill. The solution simply fell into his mind during class, and he kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner. Who else would take in the most hated student in all of Hogwarts? 

Draco gave his boyfriend a skeptical look as they skirted the Hufflepuff table. “You know any Hufflepuffs?” 

“Not really,” Harry admitted, but then they both spotted three familiar faces. 

Five students looked up as Draco and Harry drew near, the former standing cautiously behind the latter. Padma Patil and Gavin Laurent eyed them suspiciously, though Owen Ibori tried for a warm smile. The other two, younger students in yellow robes, glanced between their peers and the newcomers, assessing the situation. 

“Er, hi,” Harry addressed them, hands in his pockets. “Could we…sit with you?” 

“No problem,” Owen nodded at the others, who shifted around to make room. Padma and Gavin exchanged a knowing glance that Harry couldn’t quite decipher, but he wasn’t sure he liked it. “Um, you both know Gavin and Padma. But I don’t believe you’ve met Erin and Oliver?” 

“Call me Ollie,” Corrected one Hufflepuff boy, his grin full of lime-green braces and a ballpoint pen poking out from behind his ear, nearly covered by a mop of dark hair. Harry guessed he was Muggleborn. “Valdez, sixth year. Harry Potter, of course. And it’s Malfoy, right?” He spoke rapidly, sticking out a sun-dark hand for two hasty shakes from each young man. 

“Yes,” Draco said slowly. “I suppose you’ve heard of me, then.” 

“Definitely,” Ollie said, his smile unfading and tone casual. He didn’t elaborate. 

“I’m Erin.” The Hufflepuff girl, with long waves of auburn hair and curious, ocean-colored eyes, gave a friendly wave. “I’ve seen you two ‘round with Weasley, Ginny, I mean. We’re kinda friends.” Her voice unfurled with a tinge of an Irish brogue. 

“Ah.” Unsure of how to respond, Harry folded his hands in his lap. Next to him, Draco crossed his legs and arms; he was just as anxious. 

“I haven’t really seen much of you this year, Potter,” Padma said conversationally, leaning forward. Her iciness from fourth year, after Harry abandoned her sister at the Yule Ball, seemed to have faded completely. Harry couldn’t help but notice how she spoke only to him, eyes skating over Draco as if avoiding a particularly embarassing piece of furniture. “What brings you over here?” 

“Change of pace,” Harry replied, shrugging, and hoping she wouldn’t mention Ron and Hermione. 

“And what are _you_ doing here?” Gavin asked, his icy blue eyes narrowing at Draco. 

“Potter and I are friends,” He replied smoothly, and Gavin’s eyebrows raised in surprise. 

Erin glanced between them, sensing hostility, and interjected, “Ollie was about to start the next story, weren’t you?” The Hufflepuff boy nodded hard and fast. 

“A story?” Harry repeated, perplexed. “About what?” 

“The plot changes every night,” Owen replied as he stabbed a stalk of broccoli. “It’s a game we play. Someone starts by saying ‘once upon a time,’ and we take turns until we reach the end. Each person gets a maximum of two sentences. The story has to be interesting, but it has to end at the last person or else…” He stopped, eyes widening spookily, and bit into the broccoli. 

“Or else…?” 

“We ‘lose,’” Padma said, making air-quotes. “Nothing actually happens if we don’t make it. What’s our tally, Ollie?” 

“fifty-three wins, eighteen loses, and twelve ties,” Oliver recited. 

“Ties?” Draco cut in, and a couple of the students jumped, forgetting that the Slytherin had been there all along. “How does one tie in this…game?” Harry shot him a sideways glance, recognizing the strangled politeness in his voice. As much as he loved Draco, he knew he had a mean streak a kilometer wide. Sitting with five strangers, two of whom were children, wasn’t helping Draco keep his knee-jerk contempt in check. 

“It only happens when we don’t get to a proper end, but it _could_ be an ending with a little imagination,” Erin answered, which seemed a little vague to Harry. “Anyhow, seven is the most people we’ve had to play, so I think we’ll come up with something really exciting. Go on, Ollie.” 

Oliver clasped his hands and closed his eyes. Draco exchanged a questioning look with Harry, but the rest watched Ollie and waited patiently for him to speak. 

“Once upon a time, there was a poppy who lived in the desert. It hadn’t rained in the desert for a thousand years, and the poppy was very thirsty.” Oliver opened his eyes and nodded to Erin. 

“The poppy felt angry and bitter because he had to keep growing without any water. He turned poisonous and cursed every traveler that touched him.” Erin looked at Owen. 

“One day, a bird flew over the desert and dropped a seed next to the poisonous flower. A rose grew there.” 

“The rose came from a land of lush plants and sparkling waterfalls,” said Padma. “She pitied the poppy for having to grow in such a harsh environment.” 

“The poppy was jealous of the beautiful rose and hated it. But…” Gavin paused, thinking. “The rose had never known hate, so she chose to be the poppy’s friend.” 

The five storytellers turned to Draco, who tensed at the attention on him. “All his life, the poppy had known bitterness and discomfort.” He hesitated, and Harry nodded encouragingly. “But the rose whispered only sweetness to him, and slowly she made him happier.” 

Scarlet petals caressed the heat-stricken air. Poison seeped from a flower’s heart into the sand, turning it sulfurous yellow; grains blew away in the wind. Beneath the dining hall’s starry sky, a desert loomed white and massive, two blooms conversing in its center. Funny how a mere game could create a mini-universe - that was the thought in Harry’s mind as he continued, quietly, “Eventually, the rose convinced the poppy to bless the travelers and the earth he lived in.” Owen, Padma, Gavin, Erin, and Oliver leaned in to hear the last line. “Their love soon brought water back to the lifeless desert, and it became a beautiful oasis.” Draco’s lips moved into the shadow of a smile. Beneath the table, his right hand drifted, and Harry took it. 

“The end,” Ollie concluded, satisfied. “And we got a happy ending this time! How fortunate.” 

“That was a good setup,” Erin told him, reaching for the mashed potatoes. Just like that, the spell was broken, and dinner moved on as usual. Harry thought Draco might let go of him, but the Slytherin deftly scooped buttered peas with his left hand as if he’d been ambidextrous all his life. 

“And a nice finish,” Owen added, beaming at both Harry and Draco. “You think you’ll be joining us again tomorrow?” 

“Yeah.” Harry exchanged a look with Draco, knowing he felt the same way he did: safe, among people who hopefully wouldn’t judge them for secrets yet to be revealed. “I think we will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to lie, this chapter was one of the rockiest so far. I had a lot of writer's block leading up to this point and had trouble connecting one thread of plot to the next. Nevertheless, I hope you found the new characters interesting and will continue to enjoy the story :)


	38. Snow in April

Rose petals, powdered unicorn horn, jackalope spit, manticore blood, dragonfly wings. The closest replica of true love turned sluggishly in the pot, bright purple, and smelling of burnt toast and rotten oranges. Vigilant hands chopped ingredients, stirred the sludge, and lifted robe sleeves to noses to hide the stench. 

“Does it look more magenta or violet to you?” Draco asked, vigorously shaking a vial of liquidized foxglove. 

Harry looked up from their Potions textbook and peered into the cauldron. “…Neither?” He offered, shrugging. “Fuchsia? I dunno.” 

Draco sighed, but he opened the vial anyway, fixing an eyedropper attachment to the top. “Close enough. Here goes nothing.” 

Harry picked up a silver spoon and slowly stirred the potion as Draco dripped the foxglove into the mixture. Lips moving in unison, they counted the rotations and drops silently. _One. Two. Three. Four._

A flurry of movement as Harry hurriedly removed the spoon, and Draco flicked his wand at the fire, extinguishing it. “Come on,” Draco murmured, fanning away the lilac smoke. 

The potion’s surface suddenly became a translucent, rose pink, and the scent of fresh tangerines drifted through the air. Harry and Draco both sighed in relief. 

“You know, Draco,” Harry said amiably, glancing from the textbook to their cauldron, “I think we replicated it perfectly.” 

“Don’t get cocky,” Draco replied, raising his hand for Professor Slughorn’s attention. The potioneer lumbered over, plaid stretching over his stomach, thoughtfully brushing his walrus-like mustache. 

“Finished already?” Slughorn hummed in interest as he leaned over the cauldron, removing a few parchment pages from his robes. He reached for Harry’s nearby quill and began to mark notes, sniffing the potion and dipping a ladle into it. “Mhm…texture seems fine, color…” Shuffling the sheaves, he retrieved a strip of pure-white paper, colored on one side with various shades of pink, and held it over the liquid. “One shade off. Full rotations when you stir, boys, full rotations.” Harry half-expected Draco to shoot him a scolding look, but he only nodded, keeping his eyes forward. “Close enough for an Outstanding, in my book. Be reminded, however, you’ll be working on your own during an exam.” 

“Eighth years aren’t taking exams, sir,” Draco said, confused. 

“Oh…that’s right.” Slughorn nodded, a bit unfocused, and ambled away. 

In the absence of their teacher, Draco slouched slightly on the stool, propping his head in his hand. “I think,” he said dryly, “He’s a few bottles short of a full cabinet.” 

“He took my quill,” Harry sighed, earning a mixed look of pity and exasperation from his boyfriend. 

The rest of the students neared the end of their brewing, and when Parvati’s and Owen’s love potion started shooting blue sparks, Professor Slughorn decided to dismiss class early. The eighth years moved to the exit without hesitation, eager to free themselves from the clutches of structured intellect. As they took to the hallway, Draco extended an arm behind Harry and rested a hand on his shoulder - the action was unfamiliar but welcome, and Harry allowed himself to smile as they walked. 

“Hi,” someone greeted, and the couple looked over their shoulders to see Padma and Gavin sidling up to them. Their hands were linked, which struck Harry as surprising, but he hid his astonishment. “I didn’t know you were such a Potions whiz, Harry,” Padma continued, impressed. 

“I’m all right. If Dra- Malfoy wasn’t my partner, I’d barely scrape by,” Harry admitted. 

“Don’t discredit yourself,” Draco told him. “But yeah, you’re lucky to have me,” He added, smirking. 

“Are you two…” Gavin began, widening his eyes meaningfully at them. 

A chill ran through Harry’s blood. Draco’s hand tensed, but he didn’t pull away. “Are we what?” Draco pressed. 

Gavin lowered his voice. “You know. Together.” 

Draco’s thumb brushed against Harry’s shoulder, his silver eyes glancing at him with the hint of a question. Harry reached up and squeezed his hand comfortingly. Draco nodded, almost imperceptibly. 

“Yes,” Harry confessed, scanning Gavin’s and Padma’s faces for their reaction. Distaste skated across Gavin’s expression, almost too quick to catch, but soon settled into neutrality. Padma strangely didn’t seem surprised, and she smiled politely. 

“That’s brave of you,” She commented. “I don’t think there are any other gay couples out at Hogwarts yet.” 

Draco gave her a funny look. “Are we just ignoring the fact that I used to be a Death Eater?” 

“Oh, right.” Padma laughed uncomfortably. “Well…Love comes from unlikely places.” She and Gavin exchanged a knowing glance. 

Her words felt familiar to Harry, reminding him of a similar conversation he once had with a different couple. Hermione and Ron, his arm around her shoulder as they strolled down a torch-lit hallway. “This isn’t some schoolboy crush,” She’d said about Draco, “And not quite love. But you feel safe with them, somehow. Is that it?” 

But Ron and Hermione only feigned support when they thought Harry’s crush was some innocent, faceless girl, not the merciless and cruel Malfoy heir. Merciless, ha. Harry wished they’d at least stayed, on that blustery Saturday morning, to hear him out, to see Draco through his eyes. 

Draco seemed intrigued by Padma’s cryptic answer. “What do you mean by that?” 

Gavin grinned, a relatively rare expression for him. “It’s a long story. We didn’t exactly get along when we were younger.” 

“You can say that again,” Parvati laughed, and this time it was sincere, her brown eyes crinkling at the edges. “So, Harry, Draco. Um, can I call you Draco?” 

Draco hesitated. “Yes.” 

“There’s a Hogsmeade trip tomorrow. Gavin and I were planning to go out together. Do you want to join us?” 

“Er…” Harry looked again to his boyfriend, who shrugged. “Okay. Where d’you want to go?” _Please not Madam Puddifoot’s._

“Three Broomsticks, I think. Unless you’re thinking of someplace else?” 

“That works,” Harry said hurriedly. The possibility of seeing Ron and Hermione there nudged the back of his brain, but he shoved it away. 

“We’ll see you there,” Gavin said as they emerged onto the first floor. He and Padma bid them farewell, Gavin leaving to escort her to Muggle Studies. 

Draco and Harry walked to the library in silence, the crowd of students slowly thickening around them. Draco dropped his hand from Harry’s shoulder but stayed close to him, their hands brushing every so often. 

Late morning light edged between the bookshelves, illuminating the tables scattered in the open spaces. Harry spotted Ron and Hermione settling down to study, and he tugged Draco’s sleeve to move away from them. 

“Are you seriously going to do this until we graduate?” Draco huffed once they were out of earshot. 

"You mean the same thing they’re doing to me?” Harry replied, searching for the end-of-year essay in his satchel. “Pretending like I don’t exist?” 

“Granger gave this to me during class,” Draco said mildly, retrieving a book from his bag. Harry gave a start, crinkling parchment in his hand. 

“She…You didn’t say anything.” 

“We were busy brewing a potion, as you may recall,” Draco told him, unable to bar his voice’s contempt. “Granger said a quick hello to me at the cupboards and told me I might enjoy this.” He tapped the royal blue cover, which read, _Dawn Till Dusk and Back Again: A 20th Century Poetry Anthology._

Harry tilted his head, puzzled. “You read poetry?” 

“Never tried it,” Draco replied. “But if Granger’s talking to me, that’s a good sign, right?” 

“Yeah…I suppose so,” Harry bent his head toward his essay to hide the feeling of searing disappointment. Why would Hermione talk to Draco and not Harry? He’d finally been getting used to being without her and Ron, and briefly considered moving on completely after finding new friends the night before. But this new development felt like a kick in the stomach. Harry watched Draco, whose soft lips parted slightly as he read from the poetry book, sunlight glancing off his blonde hair. 

Did he know something Harry didn’t? 

Treachery and paranoia came creeping into Harry’s mind, and he tried to replace them with school-related thoughts instead, leaving to peruse the bookshelves. Jealousy would get him nowhere, he knew, and he couldn’t read Hermione’s mind either. All Harry could do was wait.

• • •

[Reader’s Warning: The following scene contains multiple uncensored expletives, including unacceptable and highly offensive anti-gay slurs.] 

Snow, this late in spring, seemed like a small miracle, so Harry did a double-take when he spotted something white drifting by the enchanted window in the Slytherin common room. But the particles faded before he could register them - apple blossoms, maybe, or feathers from a snowy owl. The possibility reminded him of Hedwig, and he turned away from the view. 

Leather gloves deep in his robe pocket, a necklace resting against his chest, both the color of night, and a carelessly-draped scarf adorned Harry as he met Draco in the dungeon hallway. The older boy was dressed impeccably in charcoal-grey robes, opened over a - shockingly - Muggle outfit of a midnight blue turtleneck and pressed black trousers. Harry nearly felt inadequate in his tieless uniform until Draco took his hand without a single cutting remark. 

“You look lovely,” said Harry as they began to navigate themselves from the castle. 

Draco seemed surprised at the compliment, but he took it in stride. “Thank you.” Then, as they rounded a corner, “‘Lovely?’ You think so?” 

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have said it.” 

Draco sighed, from exasperation or bashfulness, Harry couldn’t decide, but the blush in his pale cheeks was telling. “You’re still the biggest sap I know, Potter.” 

“Correction,” Harry countered cheekily, “Only sap you know.” 

Draco hummed thoughtfully. “How tragic.” 

“Aren’t you going to say how nice _I_ look?” 

A quick once-over, and a smirk. “I suppose I could say ‘nice’; ‘just shagged’ might work better, maybe, if we’re going off hair only.” 

Harry chuckled. “I don’t know if that’s an insult or a compliment.” 

“Take it how you want, but it’s true,” Draco purred, and after a quick scan to be sure the hallway was deserted, pressed a kiss to Harry’s temple. 

The school gardens sprawled in full bloom across the courtyard, filling the spring air with the scent of lavender, rosebushes, and camellias. As the couple followed their peers along the path to Hogsmeade, the plants grew wilder, heather and daisies adorning their footsteps and trees waving leaf-covered arms over their heads. The few apple trees dotting the trail had reached their peak, and sweet blossoms the color of fresh milk drifted onto the ground like miniature angels. If Harry took off his glasses, he thought, he’d see blurs of white indistinguishable from a thick flurry of snowflakes. Snow in April; wonders would never cease. 

The crowded streets of Hogsmeade provided cover for Harry’s and Draco’s entwined hands. They moved, invisibly connected, through the oblivious groups of students, a handful of teachers, and the occasional hag or goblin. Padma and Gavin didn’t seem to be around - neither, Harry noticed, relieved, were Hermione and Ron. Though he supposed the chances of running into them at the Three Broomsticks were high enough. 

As fate would have it, it was Henrietta Carrow they met at the doorway. She stood at the edge of a bunch of students waiting to be seated. A few curls escaped from her ponytail, framing a serious expression that brightened when she spotted Draco. 

“Morning, Draco,” Henrietta said, and he returned the greeting. “And Potter. I think we’ve met,” She remarked but stuck out her hand anyway. 

“Sort of,” Harry replied, shaking it. 

“You here by yourself?” Draco inquired, and Henrietta scowled. 

“I wish. Pansy and Anaya invited me to talk about ‘something important,’” She said, the quotes puncturing the air even without hand signals. “I don’t know what, but it’s probably another one of Pansy’s petty schemes.” She raised an eyebrow at Draco. 

“I know what you mean.” 

“It’s a chore just being around her,” Henrietta sighed as the party in front of them was led to their seats, and the multitude shifted forward. 

“Why do you still hang out with her, then? And _how_?” 

“Infinite grace,” Henrietta replied in a prim, Londoner accent, and she and Draco laughed, apparently sharing a joke Harry was not privy to. “I guess I feel bad for her. She’s got no one but Anaya and me.” 

“Well, if you ditch Pansy, let me know,” Draco told her, smirking. “We don’t hang out enough.” 

“That’d be nice,” Henrietta said wistfully. The hostess caught her attention, and she paused the conversation to point out the table her classmates sat at. “See you later,” Henrietta nodded to Harry and Draco before skirting away. 

“Are they here already?” Draco murmured, and it took Harry a second to realize he was talking about Padma and Gavin. 

Harry scanned their surroundings, finding the Ravenclaws at a booth near a window. They appeared to have just ordered butterbeer, white foam threatening to spill over the golden-hued sides. 

“We’re with them,” Harry told the hostess, and she waved them off. 

Padma nodded at both of them - she seemed to be in a good mood, all smiles, her long hair plaited back to reveal silver-ensconced, teardrop sapphires dangling from her ears. By contrast, Gavin tapped the table impatiently, eyes narrowing as if they’d been waiting a long time. 

“Hiya,” She greeted, beaming. “How are you?” 

“Fine,” Harry replied, draping his scarf on his chair. 

“Doing well, and you?” Draco said smoothly, perching upon the edge of his seat. His posture was comfortably rigid as always, his relaxed demeanor markedly different than the last time he’d been in the Three Broomsticks. It seemed alien to Harry, seeing Draco at ease around in public; he’d gotten used to having him all to himself at night, in the empty Slytherin common room. But this was Draco in his natural habitat, reverting back to the debonair pretending of his youth. Harry wasn’t sure he liked it, but he decided to take it in stride. 

“All right,” Padma responded. Gavin jerked his head in apparent agreement. 

There was an awkward silence for a few minutes as three students glanced at each other and silently scrambled for conversation topics. Gavin didn’t seem interested in saying anything and focused on draining his butterbeer. Harry thought he wouldn’t mind speaking first, but couldn’t think of anything besides Quidditch, which seemed ill-timed since Ginny hoped to destroy the Ravenclaw team in about a month. 

“D’you remember…” Padma started, finally ending the quiet; she was interrupted by a bored-looking waitress sidling up to their table, who stared at Draco and Harry without speaking. 

“Butterbeer, please,” Draco said. 

“Same.” 

“Um, anyway,” Padma continued, once the waitress had left. “Do you remember McGonagall’s speech at the beginning of the year?” 

September was mostly a blur in Harry’s memory, but he could recall some parts of the first day. McGonagall had said something about… “Interhouse cooperation. Isn’t there…some sort of competition going on? Thanks,” He added as the waitress came back with their drinks. 

“Sort of. All the houses have to reach four thousand points, collectively, for a grand prize. A lot of people have guessed at what that will be. Not even the teachers know, or else they’re all really good at acting like they don’t.” 

“Fat chance we’ll ever find out,” Draco said cynically, tapping his glass. “Hogwarts houses are notoriously bad at working together.” 

“That’s the thing, though,” Padma chirped, eyes shining. “Have you seen the points lately?” 

Draco and Harry shook their heads. 

“We’re _very_ close,” Padma told them. “My friend did a Counting Charm on all the gems, and it’s just over three thousand.” 

“That’s not _very_ close,” Gavin mumbled, and Padma looked at him as if surprised he’d spoken. 

“Well, we still a couple months,” She stated firmly. “And the total’s already higher than what we’ve reached in previous years.” 

“How do you know?” Gavin countered. “Do you cast charms on the points every single year?” 

Padma rolled her eyes. “Obviously not, Gavin. Can you stop being a pain in the arse for two seconds?” 

“I dunno, Padma. Can you stop pretending like you know everything?”

Draco caught Harry’s eye and mouthed, _yikes._

“Quidditch finals are coming up soon,” Harry cut in, feeling terribly uncomfortable. “Do you, um, think Ravenclaw’s well set to beat Gryffindor?” He regretted the question immediately, and Draco elbowed him sharply. 

“What?” Padma said distractedly, her hands gripping her tankard so hard that the liquid inside was sloshing about slightly. “Oh…I don’t know, I don’t play Quidditch.” 

“It’s quite fun, you should join,” Harry told her, then realized that was a stupid thing to say. “I mean, er…I guess you’re leaving Hogwarts, so…” 

“Potter, shut your pretty mouth,” Draco muttered to him, and Harry clammed up, blushing. 

“Right,” Padma mumbled, and Harry gave a start when he noticed tears gathering in her eyes. 

“Padma, are you-” 

“Oh, don’t start that again,” Gavin griped at his girlfriend. “I told you I was sorry, didn’t I? Can’t you let it go?” 

“That’s what you said last time!” Padma exclaimed tearfully, knocking over her butterbeer. She didn’t seem to notice as the glass thunked against the tabletop, liquid splashing across the wood. Draco hurriedly took out his wand and cleared the spill before it could drip onto the floor. 

“You’re being completely unreasonable,” Gavin hissed, lowering his voice, but Harry and Draco could still hear him clearly. Harry looked between the two Ravenclaws, worried for Padma, but reluctant to interfere. “Can’t we talk about this later?” 

“You’re always doing this!” Padma wailed, and a few heads in the bar turned towards their table. Next to Harry, Draco froze like a deer in headlights. “You’re deflecting, Gavin, instead of actually dealing with the problem.” 

“Whatever. But we can’t-” 

Padma gave an exaggerated sigh, standing from the table while wiping at her eyes. “You’re impossible,” She declared and turned to leave. 

“Padma.” Suddenly, Gavin was standing, and his hand shot forward, grabbing Padma’s arm. 

“Ow, Gavin, stop it!” Padma protested, trying to wriggle free from his grasp. Her expression had shifted rapidly from exasperation to fear. “You’re hurting me!” 

Harry’s heart leaped in his throat, and he considered standing to help, but before he could, Draco said, “Let her go.” 

He barely raised his voice, but the words melted through the crowd’s murmur like warm rain through snow. Draco had put away his wand and remained seated, but something terrible shone in his eyes, like the gaze of a serpent poised to strike. His hands, visible on the table, twitched as if holding back the instinct to fight. Icy fear pierced through Harry when he saw and heard Draco, because he knew, without the shadow of a doubt, that the Dark Mark had risen beneath the gray fabric. 

Gavin’s mouth fell open. He let go of Padma, who fled without another word. “I…” He blinked, limbs tensing. “I’m sorry,” He said, to no one in particular, and stiffly walked away from the table, shoving his hands in his robe pockets. 

Once Gavin was out of sight, Draco slumped, burying his head in his hands, his breathing barely ragged. “Draco?” Harry rubbed soothing circles on his back, painfully aware that a few stray eyes had watched the commotion at their table. 

“We should go,” Draco said, raising his head. The fierce light had died in his eyes. 

“Sure.” Harry hastily rummaged about for a few Sickles, leaving them on the table before following Draco into the streets. 

“We shouldn’t make it a habit to storm out every time we go to Hogsmeade,” Harry joked, but he stopped smiling when he saw the look on Draco’s face. His eyes were downcast, mouth curved in a frown, his hands wringing to keep them from shaking. “Are you okay?” 

Draco nodded slowly. “I…I think so. Keep walking…it helps.” He began to veer off the street, towards a copse of trees, and Harry followed. Draco made a hissing noise, grabbing his left forearm with the other hand. 

“What is it?” Harry asked, plunging a hand into his robes for his wand. “Is it…?” 

“It burns,” Draco said hoarsely, and cleared his throat. “Just a bit. I’m fine.” 

They reached a clearing, and it took Harry a moment to recognize it - the bare branches of winter had been covered with shiny green leaves; grass and flowers sprouted underfoot. It was the same spot they’d come to in February when snow had dusted the fallen branches and rocks, and solitary birds scrounged for shelter. Now, Harry could hear flapping and chirping but saw only flashes of color as he glimpsed wings through the foliage. 

Draco paused in the center, looking up at the gold-and-green tapestry of the overstory. He began to relax, shoulders losing their tension and hands drifting to his sides. 

Harry stepped forward, footsteps rustling in the grass. He wrapped an arm around Draco’s waist, and they leaned into each other, standing side by side in the muted sounds and sights of the clearing. Draco’s eyes fixed on a birch tree, just ahead, its thin leaves fluttering with a ghostlike lack of intensity. The trunk bent slightly to the left, its pale bark marred with dark gouges and circular marks. 

“I want to help you,” Harry murmured, his cheek brushing against Draco’s shoulder. “But I don’t know how.” 

“You are helping,” Draco replied softly. “I can keep it under control when you’re around. Usually.” 

A sparrow dived overhead, some unidentifiable insect clutched in its beak. Harry watched as it landed into a tree, and he could barely make out three tiny figures through the twigs - the bird’s offspring. 

“I don’t want us to be like that,” Draco said suddenly. 

“Like what?” Harry looked up at him. 

“Laurent and Padma. You saw what she was like - he’s definitely hurt her before.” 

Yes, Harry had seen it. The way Padma had wanted to get away from Gavin as fast as possible, muscles tensing like prey ready to bolt. Hand raising defensively as if anticipating a blow. What had Padma cried when Gavin tried to apologize? 

_That’s what you said last time._

“I’d never hurt you,” Harry said quietly, pressing a kiss to Draco’s cheek. 

“I know _you_ wouldn’t,” Draco agreed, turning to face him. His silver eyes seemed to echo with a pang of preemptive guilt, and Harry realized what he was trying to say. “Lucius…he used to…” Draco’s breath caught, and he started over. “He used to hit my mother. I don’t know when it started - before Hogwarts, definitely. He didn’t do it often, but every time he got angry… she’d make herself scarce and get me out of the way.” He paused. “I’m…a lot like my father.” The word hung uncomfortably in the air like an empty chrysalis. “And Merlin knows I’ve inflicted unforgivable amounts of pain on innocent people. But I _never_ ,” He said fiercely, holding Harry’s gaze, “Want to hurt those I love. I don’t want you to be afraid of me.” 

Harry shook his head. “I don’t think I ever will be.” 

Draco’s mouth twitched. “How are you so sure?” 

“Because I trust you,” Harry stated simply. He turned, lifting his arms, and hugged him. Draco responded naturally, the awkwardness of sudden embraces gone from their relationship. Draco relaxed into Harry’s touch, and they stayed like that for a few moments, but Harry didn’t linger - he knew Draco needed only a bit of solace, not pity. 

“I hope Padma will be okay,” Harry said as he pulled away.

“If she ever needs it, we’ll help,” Draco promised. He slipped a hand into Harry’s as they made their way from the clearing. 

Something rustled in the bushes behind them, just before Hogsmeade’s back alleys, and Harry looked over his shoulder. A small, brown creature snuffled around in the leaves, and when it turned, Harry saw its long ears, wiggling nose, and light whiskers. 

“Bunny,” Harry whispered, nudging Draco. 

“ _What_ did you call me?” Draco inquired, annoyed, but then he saw it too and smiled. “Oh. How cute.” 

They watched the rabbit sniff about in the vegetation, its ears and fluffy tail twitching with its movements. Harry and Draco remained stone-still, trying not to scare it, but the animal eyed them beadily, froze in place, then resolutely bounded away. 

“I’ve never seen a rabbit in the wild before,” Harry said, satisfied. “Maybe we ought to…oh…” He trailed off as Draco’s pale hand brushed his cheek, pulling him close. 

Harry couldn’t stop himself from smiling against Draco’s lips, his hands falling to his neck in a relaxed, yet protective manner. He’d surely never get tired of this, Harry thought, kissing Draco, whether outside or in the castle’s dungeon. He somehow tasted more intoxicating in the golden light of spring, like butterbeer and peppermint and flowers all at once - though perhaps Harry could attribute that to his serotonin-fueled imagination. 

“Potter,” Draco murmured as they broke apart. “I…” 

“Merlin’s tits!” Someone shrieked. 

Startled, Harry and Draco immediately turned to the sound, at the end of the nearest alleyway. Three girls wearing black robes stared back at them, expressions in varying states of shock. Henrietta’s eyes were wide, limbs slightly akimbo as if she’d been walking and suddenly forgotten how. Anaya Rosier had clapped a hand to her mouth, dark eyes showing more emotion than they ever had before. And in front of them, her jaw dropped, fists clenched… Harry’s heart sunk like a chunk of granite thrown into the Black Lake, sinking down into cold depths with no chance of reemerging. 

Pansy Parkinson raised one trembling finger, pointing viciously at them. “Didn’t I _tell_ you?” She exclaimed, voice dripping with equal parts horror and triumph. “I knew something was going on between them. I called it; they’re total faggots!” At the word, Harry’s necklace began to grow uncomfortably warm, and he winced. 

“Pansy,” Henrietta chided weakly, but she didn’t step forward, still eyeing Draco and Harry as if they were about to explode. 

“ _You_ thought I was taking the piss,” Pansy whirled on her, eyes flashing. “I guess you were wrong about him.” 

Henrietta opened her mouth, then closed it, swaying slightly on the spot with indecisiveness. 

Harry watched this exchange with increasing anxiety. He hadn’t moved, but Draco slowly detangled their limbs, turning to face Pansy. Harry wanted to glance at him to check to see if he was okay, but the possibility of Draco leaving him to protect himself suddenly seemed much too tangible, and he couldn’t bear to consider it. Besides, he felt like he was missing something…the way Henrietta looked at Draco as if she’d betrayed him, Pansy’s knowing smirk. The disaster happening now was bigger than just him and Draco, but Harry couldn’t figure out exactly how. 

“I thought you could do better, Draco,” Pansy called tauntingly. “That _thing_ might be the Chosen One, but he’s still got a dead Mudblood for a mother.” 

Harry moved faster than he thought possible, plunging his hand into his robes. Next to him, he felt Draco mirror his actions, and in less than a second, twin hexes flew through the alley. Pansy deftly ducked, and Henrietta leaped to the side, yelping. One of the spells hit Anaya square in the face, and she fell to the ground, wailing as slimy tentacles began to sprout from her cheeks. 

“Oops,” Draco said coldly. 

Pansy straightened, her wand in hand. “You’ll pay for that, blood traitor,” She growled. “Carrow, take her to the hospital wing.” 

Henrietta didn’t argue, running to Anaya and helping her up. Draco allowed the two girls to flee, but the second they left, he raised his wand again. “You should have minded your own business, Parkinson.” 

“I _am_ minding my business, Draco.” 

“Don’t call me that. You haven’t earned it.” 

“It’s my business if another pureblood is on track to fuck up their bloodline with filth.” 

Draco yelled, swiping his wand viciously, and a crackling jet of blue light shot towards Pansy. She deflected it at the last second, the Shield Charm absorbing the spell with a sound like thunder. Harry stepped forward to help, but Draco threw out an arm, holding him back. 

“Don’t,” He muttered, “She’s not above Unforgivables.” 

“I can _help_ ,” Harry protested, irked. He knew Draco was trying to protect him, but he’d fought Voldemort and won. He could handle an eighteen-year-old girl with an ego bigger than she was. 

“He’s not worth all this trouble,” Pansy told Draco, jutting her chin at Harry. “Marry Carrow, if you won’t have me.” 

“What?” Draco’s wand hand dipped. “Henrietta?” 

“Merlin, you’re pigheaded,” Pansy laughed derisively. “Haven’t you noticed? The poor girl’s in love with you!” 

It was Draco’s turn to laugh, though Harry could tell he forced it. “Don’t be stupid.” 

“You’re one to talk. She told me herself, you know.” Draco bit his lip, unsure whether to believe her, but Pansy’s words rang with conviction. “Make her happy, won’t you? I’m sure the Rosiers will find some suitable cock for you to choke on when she’s looking the other way.” 

Draco grimaced. “Get stuffed, Parkinson!” Harry shouted. “Draco can be with whoever he likes.” 

Pansy sneered. “I hope you’re not referring to yourself. You can strut about the castle all you want, _Chosen One,_ but you’ve got nothing to offer him except that shiny nickname.” 

“You’re wrong,” Draco countered. 

“Am I?” Pansy asked, directing the question to the Gryffindor. 

Harry hesitated. Wasn’t she right, at least partially? He was a decent fighter but wasn’t great at school. With Ron and Hermione, he felt invincible - they’d saved his life more times than he could count, but what could he do without them? Become a just-above-average Auror and fade away into the history books? It’s not like he had a whole lot of charisma or intelligence… 

…No. Pansy was trying to get into his head. Harry was worth more than his accomplishments and friends. Being with Draco had taught him that. “Walk away, Parkinson,” Harry said, aiming his wand at her. “You don’t want to make an enemy of me.” 

“Funny you say that,” Pansy simpered, “Because I don’t give a flying rat’s arse about you.” Despite her statement, the necklace grew intensely hot. He gripped his wand firmly and gritted his teeth against the pain. “Stand aside.”

Nothing but leaves rustling in the wind. Harry remained firmly next to Draco; the Slytherin wasn’t running, so neither would he. 

“Fine. _Crucio!_ ” 

“No!” Harry flung himself forward without thinking, and for a moment, he felt only a slight wrapping sensation around his chest as the spell connected… 

White-hot pain seared from his scar to his calves, squeezing and tearing at flesh, his tendons feeling as if they were about to snap, his bones splintering. He must have been screaming, he must have been screaming bloody murder, but all he knew was the excruciating feeling of being torn apart from the inside out. No blood oozed, but Harry could feel his veins rushing with adrenaline, every cell pulsing with agony… 

And then there was nothing but the blue, blue sky. 

Harry’s breath came in shaky pants, and for a moment, he couldn’t move, his back pressed to the cobblestone, stray shoots of grass between his fingers. Nearby, he heard the sounds of scuffling, then- 

“ _Sectumsempra!_ ” 

A high-pitched yelp, then staggered, running footsteps. 

His head pounding, Harry slowly sat up. The alley was completely empty save for Draco, who had lowered his wand. His hands were trembling. 

Harry pressed the heel of his palm to his aching head. “What…happened?” 

“She’s fine,” Draco muttered, seemingly to himself. “Barely grazed her leg, she’ll be fine…Potter!” He realized and immediately knelt by his side. “You…you…” Draco made a sort of strangled noise and wrapped Harry tightly in his arms. 

“I’m…a hero?” Harry said jokingly, returning his embrace. 

Draco tutted. “Certainly not.” He pulled away, gripping Harry’s shoulders, worry in his eyes. “That was stupidly reckless, Potter.” He sighed, head drooping. “You’re the worst.” 

Harry laughed, though his throat felt like sandpaper. “I love you, too.” 

“What are we going to do?” Draco mumbled as he rested his forehead on Harry’s shoulder. “Pansy’s made it her mission to make my life hell. And now she’s got the perfect ammunition.” 

Harry shook his head slowly. He wished he had all the answers, but… “I don’t know, Draco,” He replied, holding him. “I don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favorite visual chapters thus far, especially with the parallels between winter and spring - the death of a year juxtaposed with a new beginning. 
> 
> (c. September 2020) I want to take this time to thank everyone who's kept up with WTSC so far. It's been nearly a year since I started publishing! It's harder to work on this fic now that I've started the IB, but I'll do my best :)


	39. Three Weeks

_Snow fell thick and fast outside the kitchen window, which was frosted at the edges like a glazed pastry. The sound of carolers echoed beyond the glass, ghostly voices tossed about by the wind. Harry gripped a warm mug of hot chocolate. He sipped from it, but the liquid turned to dust in his mouth, and he spat it out._

_“Well?”_

_Harry turned from the view. The inside of the Burrow was draped in tinsel, wreaths, and ribbons strung with bells. A fairy flew around the lavishly decorated tree glimmering in the living room. Before him, a young man with a freckled face and a shock of red hair sat at the kitchen table, his arms folded expectantly. A cup of tea sat by his elbow._

_For a moment, Harry thought it was George. But both of his ears were perfectly intact._

_The hot chocolate stuck in Harry’s throat. “Fred?”_

_Fred chuckled and gave a few slow claps. “Oh, well done, Harry. You were so close! It’s actually pronounced Forge.”_

_“You’re dead.” He hadn’t meant to say it so bluntly, but the shock of seeing Fred had made Harry’s brain short-circuit._

_“Yeah, I am.” Fred’s grin faded for a moment, then his eyes lit up. “Watch this, Harry.” He dipped a hand into his tea - his flesh passed right through the cup. Furrowing his brow in concentration, Fred scooped the liquid right out, and it didn’t trickle through his fingers. He tossed the tea from hand to hand, wincing slightly from the heat. “Neat trick, huh?”_

_“Are you really here?”_

_Fred let the tea drop back into his cup with a splash. “That depends on your perspective, I suppose. Do I seem real to you?”_

_His cheeks were slightly flushed with warmth. His crooked grin seemed authentic, identical to the smile he wore in life. Harry stepped closer to him, reaching out. Fred took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. Harry felt a pulse, thrumming in his palm._

_“Yes,” Harry replied, and Fred let go._

_“There’s your answer.”_

_“Why…” Harry cleared his throat and sat down across from him. “Why are you here?”_

_“I’ve got something for you.” Fred patted his pockets, and Harry realized he was wearing Muggle jeans and one of Mrs. Weasley’s sweaters, this one pure white with a gold F. “Ah, here we go.” He unfolded a crinkly page of parchment._

_“Who’s it from?”_

_Fred’s eyes, the precise shade of brown as Ginny’s, pierced through Harry. “Your mum.”_

_Lily. Harry listened closely to the voices from the snow - perhaps one of them belonged to her. He could imagine her, scarcely three years older than he was, green eyes crinkling with a warm smile._

_Fred slid the parchment over. With trembling hands, Harry took it._

**_Dearest Harry,_ **

**_I can’t even begin to say how proud your father and I am of you. From the moment I held you in my arms, I knew you’d do wonderful things and make a difference in the world. And you’ve exceeded our expectations by far._ ** ****

**_But I never anticipated what a kind-hearted person you would turn out to be. We’ve been with you, watching your progress with your friends and schoolwork at Hogwarts, with Draco Malfoy. I admit James was not thrilled when he found out you’d befriended Lucius’s son! He came around eventually; he and I recognized that you’re good for Draco, and he’s good for you, even if you haven’t realized it yet._ ** ****

**_It takes an immense strength to forgive those who have wronged you, Harry. I’m sure you know this, so I have some advice for you - talk to Hermione and Ron. They miss you just as much as you miss them. You don’t owe them friendship, but they’d like a chance to explain themselves before you make a decision. You’ll need your friends’ strength as well as your own in the coming days._ ** ****

**_Lastly, a reminder: you cannot choose you who love; you can only choose to hide it or love authentically. James and I are immensely proud of you for choosing the latter. Of course, we want you to be happy, but we also want you to be yourself. Life is not worth living in the shadows. Please remember, though, that with that choice comes hardship. The hate against those who love differently isn’t as strong now as when we were kids, but it’s there. You’ve seen it, I’m sure. Be brave, Harry._ **

**_All my love,_ ** ****

**_Mum_ ** ****

_Tears flowed silently down Harry’s cheeks, falling like rain onto the tabletop. He didn’t move to stop them, only held on to the words, the ink that Lily Potter had traced._

_Harry opened his mouth to speak, then gasped with the effort of trying not to sob. He stared at the page through his tears, beholding Lily’s neat scrawl, the looped g’s, the tiny dots of her i’s. A part of him knew this must be impossible. His mother was long dead; she couldn’t write letters. Yet another part of him felt with unwavering certainty that her hand had moved across this page, had drafted a message, a warning, and an expression of love for her only living child. He wished he could bring it with him._ ****

_“Can I see her?” Harry pleaded, looking up at Fred. “My mum? My dad? Remus, Sirius, anyone?”_

_Fred shook his head. “Sorry, mate. I don’t control that. They’re too far over the other side.”_

_“What about you?”_

_Fred smiled sadly. “I’m waiting for someone.”_

_A rumble of thunder shook the house. Fred’s cup began to tip, twirled slowly in a circle, then fell onto the table. Tea spread across the tabletop, dripping onto the floor._

_Fred gazed out the window as if looking at someone in the snow. “I have to go.”_

_“Wait…” Harry stood from his stool, which promptly fell over as the house continued to tremble. “Will I see you again?”_

_“Oh, I’m sure we’ll meet at some point,” Fred assured him. “It was nice to see you, Harry.”_

_Harry opened his mouth to reply, but the house abruptly crumbled, and his vision went dark._

• • •

[Reader’s Warning: The following scene contains multiple uncensored expletives, including unacceptable and highly offensive anti-gay slurs.] 

Much had changed in three weeks. That was the hazy reflection drifting through Harry’s mind when he flopped upon his bed, his head aching, and his muscles tense. He didn’t remember falling asleep. 

When he woke, the dream lingered in his mind like dew after a rainstorm. He lay still for a few minutes, processing, debating whether it could have been real or not. It _felt_ real. But perhaps it was only his subconscious consoling him. 

Draco’s bed lay empty, the sheets immaculately made, the pillows perfectly arranged. Harry wondered if he actually plumped them up before leaving in the morning. He wouldn’t be surprised. 

Eight chimes reverberated from above, signaling the start of dinner. In the silence of Draco’s absence, Harry wavered in the doorway, unsure whether to go or not. He didn’t know whether Draco needed a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold, or several feet of space, void of eye contact. In the end, curiosity for what would happen next got the best of Harry, and he left for dinner, passing through the near-empty Slytherin dungeon. 

_A lot changed in three weeks_ , Harry thought as he stood at the entrance to the dining hall. Before, he would head immediately for the Gryffindor table to join Hermione, Ron, and Draco, to participate in a fragile, but real friendship. Back when he’d kept his secrets. 

Harry spotted Draco at the Slytherin table, surprisingly. And even more shocking was Henrietta, who sat across from him. They seemed civil with each other but weren’t talking much. Further down, Pansy glared daggers at them. Harry decided to sit at the end of the Hufflepuff table, where no one would bother him. From farther away, Erin, Ollie, and Owen glanced at him questioningly, but Padma picked at her food and notice him. Gavin was nowhere to be seen. 

Harry filled his plate, determined to pretend everything was normal, that his and Draco’s secret hadn’t been leaked to the biggest gossip in school. His back to the Slytherin table, he didn’t detect their glances between him and Draco, peppered with smirks. He didn’t notice as a few of them walked over to their Ravenclaw friends, whispering something in their ears. 

The news spread like wildfire, and it wasn’t long before Harry heard someone say, “Malfoy’s a _poof?_ ” 

Fork freezing over a barely eaten pile of mashed potatoes. Green eyes widening. He turned to the voice. 

Some Gryffindor nearby, hardly fourteen, added, “Y’know, that makes a lot of sense, actually. He always seems like he’s got something up his arse.” The friends around him laughed. 

Harry stood from the bench, angry, then immediately regretted it - eyes were on him too, as mouths muttered and grinned, faces morphing into amusement and disgust both. “Potter and Malfoy? That’s not something you see every day.” “Merlin, that’s gross. If I was a faggot, I think I’d kill myself.” “Wonder who buggers who?” “Reckon they’ve shagged _at school_?” “Ergh, don’t even suggest that!” 

Voices pressed in from all sides. Harry felt dizzy, sick. He couldn’t even bear to meet Draco’s gaze from across the hall, to signal to everyone watching him that yes, the rumors were true, they were dating, but they cared about each other deeply, and no, it wasn’t some sort of weird Death Eater fetish or an illness of the heart, they were two people who loved each other, who just happened to be boys. 

Harry didn’t say any of this. He stepped over the bench and strode away, knowing that his billowing robes drew even more attention, knowing that sniggers and stares followed him all the way down… 

Instinct led him to the seventh-floor corridor, near the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. The hallway was empty, save for a pale Slytherin pacing, muttering under his breath. 

“Draco.” Harry’s lungs filled with a panicked kind of relief. Draco didn’t look up. He ran two hands through his hair, staring at the floor. “Draco, are you all right?” 

“No.” He shook his head, whispering. “No, no, no, I’m not all right, of _course,_ I’m not all right, didn’t you hear them? Didn’t you hear them, Potter?” He looked up, silver eyes hollowed with shame. 

_Be brave, Harry._

“Yes. Yes, I did. But we can’t care about what they think,” Harry told him, reaching to take his hand. “It’ll kill us.” 

Draco, startled, let Harry take his hand for a moment. Then he pulled away. “Not everyone can be as careless as you.” 

Harry blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You just said it yourself,” Draco shot back. “We shouldn’t care about what they think. But I do, Potter, because unlike you, I care about my reputation.” 

“But…you said,” Harry began, stung, “You wouldn’t care if people found out.” 

“Maybe I wouldn’t have,” Draco replied. He pointed down the corridor, indicating the vicious crowd of students they had just left. “But not like this. This…this is all wrong. These rumors could follow us out of school, you know.” 

“Whatever happens,” Harry promised, “We’ll get through it together.” He held out his hand once more. 

Draco stared at it, teetering on the edge of a decision. Then he shook his head, wrung his hands. “I…I can’t. This is too much.” He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall - too late, Harry realized what he was doing.

The Room of Requirement, its enhanced magic starving for company, moved to let Draco through. A door didn’t appear, but the wall bubbled, edges reaching out to embrace him, rapidly sucking him into the chamber. 

“Wait!” Harry reached out, his desperate hands touching fabric, but it soon gave way to cold, hard stone. His fingers scrabbled at it, skin scraping against the roughness. Then he stopped, breathing heavily, and took a step back. 

_I want to see where Draco Malfoy has gone._ Harry chanted in his mind, briskly walking back and forth across the entrance. He cracked an eyelid. Nothing. His heart sank; he thought Draco was done shutting him out. 

Footsteps echoing at the end of the corridor made Harry turn. The two people he least expected to see ran towards him. One of them carried an armful of books, face streaked with tears. The other looked furious. 

Harry regarded them coldly, adopting his boyfriend’s method of wearing an uninterested mask, while his heart wrenched in his chest. “What are you lot doing here?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A crossroads for Harry is coming up very soon. But first - let's see where Draco Malfoy has gone.


	40. Little Dragon

Words float in from somewhere else, traveling sluggishly to the child’s ears. He’s trying to listen, he really is, but the outside has captured his attention. A sparrow, brown and beady-eyed, perches upon a magnolia branch. The child wonders what it’s like to be a bird, to fly wherever he pleases, bound only by the base rules of survival. To soar to the highest heavens, snatching insects from branches, dive-bombing grown-ups for his amusement. He wonders if insects would taste nearly as good as sweets if he was a bird. 

“Draco!” 

The tutor, patient but disappointed, raises his voice and raps the point of a quill on the table. Startled, Draco glances back, blinking rapidly. The star chart before him remains empty. 

“I don’t understand the point of this exercise,” Draco sighs dramatically; even at eight years old, his personality overflows with his father’s petulance and his mother’s wit. His speech, clipped and enunciated, impresses most adults - until they get to know him better. 

The tutor wears a strained, polite smile that, to the trained eye, betrays how much he wants to bang his head against the manor’s marble walls. “The point,” He says firmly, “Is for you to get ahead of your peers so you can be at the top of your class. You want to make your father proud, don’t you?” 

You don’t want to make your father angry, do you? That’s the question Draco hears, and he shudders at the possibility, already knowing his answer: no. “Yes,” He replies dully. 

“If you fill this out correctly and we finish early, I’ll ask your mother if we can go out for ice cream. Would you like that?” The tutor coaxes. 

“Ooh. Yes, I would.” Draco nods vigorously and grabs his quill. 

A glance at the page tells him that the chances of getting all the answers correct are slim to none. He grips the plume decisively and plows ahead anyway. The only constellation he’s sure of is his namesake. The great dragon coils around the North Pole, its serpentine body ending in a vicious, toothed head. Draco even adds extra stars for wings; perhaps creativity will score him some points. 

Once he’s done, Draco beams proudly and slides the parchment to his tutor, who looks over the labels. He sighs, pinches his nose. “Okay. Let’s go over this _again,_ shall we?” 

Draco’s lip trembles, but he forces himself not to cry. Crying means weakness, and he will _not_ be seen as weak. He faces away from the window, scolding himself for daydreaming. 

You want to make your father proud, don’t you?

When he was only a toddler, Draco used to squeal and wriggle his way from the bath as best he could every night. But in his more sophisticated years, he asks himself how he could have ever been so foolish. Cleanliness is close to godliness, Draco remembers, just as his Auntie Dromeda used to tell him. 

He wonders why she’s stopped coming to visit. 

The bathroom, like most rooms in Malfoy Manor, is too exquisitely enormous for its own good. But after a near-decade of taking perfumed, extravagant baths in the pool-sized tub every night, the room feels homey to Draco. Blue and yellow light from the enchanted chandelier above dances and reflects off the marble surfaces and mirrors. The Malfoys’ house-elf has already run the bath, so the water sits at the right temperature, and Draco slips in without hesitation. Reaching for a bar of chamomile and lavender soap, he begins to wash, albeit clumsily. But he leaves his hair untouched, sinking into the bubbles and waiting. 

Soft footsteps padding on the tile make Draco smile; his mother is here. “Hello, darling.” Narcissa’s kind voice echoes slightly as she settles down behind him. As is routine, she pumps foaming, gardenia-scented shampoo into her hands and washes her son’s hair, fingers massaging his scalp and working out the tangles. “Tell me about your day.” 

“Well…I had French lessons today. And I played in the garden after.” 

“What did you learn?” 

“I can say… _je - je suis heureux,_ ” Draco stutters, his pronunciation unpracticed.

“Very good.” Narcissa spills warm water onto his head, rinsing the suds. “And are you?” 

“Am I what?” 

“ _Est-ce que tu es heureux, mon petit dragon ?_ ” 

Draco sinks into the bubbles. He lives in a five-story house, lavishly decorated, complete with a room that’s all his own to play in. He has two parents who only want the best for him: the best education, the best adulthood they can prepare for. “ _Oui, Maman._ Of course, I am.” 

Idly, he wonders. Will the other kids in Slytherin house make fun of him if he takes bubble baths? Draco can’t allow anyone to dislike him. He’ll make as many friends as possible, connections for the future. “Mum?” 

“Yes, darling?” Narcissa starts on a conditioner, the same dewy gardenia scent as the shampoo. 

“I think…I think I should wash my own hair from now on. Since you won’t be at school to do it for me.” 

Narcissa falls silent for a moment. This must be how it begins, the separation of mother and son. She’s seen it coming. It only stings a bit. “Of course, Draco. It’s nice to see you’re taking some responsibility.” 

Her hands thread through his hair, and it feels like the last time.

Are you happy, my little dragon?

Dinner is usually a quiet, solemn affair, the silence broken only by the scraping of silver against porcelain and the occasional reprimand for Draco to fix his table manners. But tonight, with the promise of Hogwarts castle a scarce few nights away, Lucius decides that a few minutes of discussion can’t hurt. 

Draco Malfoy sits as a near-perfect replicant of his parents. Slicked platinum blonde hair, sharp chin tilted up, and hands clasped neatly as the house-elf clears away the plates and begins serving dessert. The only thing wrong is his eyes - silver, and filled with contempt and hints of power, as they should be. But there’s something else, too - a shine that signifies the dreams of a child. Draco’s life is planned; Lucius knows because he did it himself. There should be no room for fantasy. 

“Draco.” 

“Yes, father?” 

“Before you go off to Hogwarts, your mother and I would like to illuminate you about your future.” 

Though she’s included in that statement, Narcissa keeps her head bowed and her mouth shut. Demure and submissive. The only kind of woman Lucius can respect. 

He retrieves his wand and waves it over the tabletop. Draco blinks in surprise; his father has always had a strict no-magic-at-the-dinner-table rule. This must be serious. As a long sheet of crisp, white parchment unfurls onto the dark wood, the family house-elf places a slice of tiramisu by Draco’s elbow. He forces himself to ignore it. 

“September first, nineteen ninety-one,” Lucius says smoothly, tapping an entry near the parchment’s top. “Attends Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” a disapproving glance at Narcissa, “ _not_ Durmstrang. Sorted into Slytherin house.” 

Draco nods; he knows this already. 

But as Lucius continues, Draco discovers just how much he’s meant to achieve. “Prefect.” “Outstanding O.W.L.s.” “Quidditch captain.” “Head Boy.” “You may,” Lucius continues, “Select a subject in your sixth year in which to excel and lessen your effort for the others. But if it’s Muggle Studies, we’ll have to disown you.” He smiles coldly, but Draco knows he’s not joking. 

“I wouldn’t be interested in how animals live, anyway,” Draco remarks, and Lucius smirks; he’s trained his son well. 

“I should hope not. In addition,” Lucius indicates a much shorter list separate from the entries, “The names of those in which you may place your trust. Old families, respectable ones. I do not care if you garner a following; in fact, I encourage it. But you keep your true intentions within an inner circle. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, Father.” 

“Lastly,” Lucius slides one pale finger to the end of the parchment. “Marriage.” 

A woman stands at the end of an aisle. She smiles. Perhaps Draco sheds a tear. He’s set the scene up in his mind often, not as a daydream, but as practice. To prepare himself. And each time, his wife has no face. 

“When the time comes, your mother and I will handpick a proper, pureblood woman for you to wed. You will marry her. You will learn to tolerate her if not love her.” 

“Yes, Father.” A twist of uncertainty in Draco’s stomach. “But…” 

He regards his son with frosty menace. “But?” 

“What if I don’t want to marry? I’ll do everything else,” Draco says hurriedly, “But I think I can be successful without a wife, right? Don’t I…get a choice?” 

A beat of silence.

As fast as a viper, Lucius’s black-clad arm lurches across the table, grabbing Draco’s face. Draco squeaks in alarm as his father forces him to stand, fingers painfully clawed about his chin. 

“Choice?” Lucius roars, eyes blazing. “You think I _chose_ to have only one son to pass on the family name? You think I _chose_ for our kind to be interbreeding with Muggles, mixing our blood with filth? You listen to me, boy,” He squeezes, and Draco whimpers in pain, “I won’t tolerate any idiotic talk about ‘choice’! Your _duty_ is to keep our bloodline pure. Do you wish to fail your duties?” 

Draco can hardly form a reply. Tears begin to inch, unbidden, onto his cheeks. 

Narcissa can’t take it anymore, standing, shouting, “Lucius, stop it! You’re hurting him!” 

Lucius lets him go. He turns toward his wife and slaps her face with the back of his hand. 

The blow echoes off the cold marble of the dining room. Narcissa bows her head, cradling her cheek. The look of a caged animal shines in her blue eyes, which remain resolutely fixed to the floor. She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t allow herself to cry. 

Draco, on the floor, breathes in gasping gulps, his heartbeat fierce with fear and betrayal. Lucius holds not an ounce of pity for either of them. 

Do you wish to fail your duties?

As scarlet flames flicker in the wrought iron grate, Draco thinks about what has transpired that day. He’d almost bought green robes only a few shades darker than Potter’s eyes, but when Potter’s group entered Madam Malkin’s, he realized the similarity and decided against them. Given Narcissa the slip, which she became livid about later. Made sure to walk by the storefront window precisely when Potter stood near it, to make sure he spotted him. Draco can’t fathom why he did it, but he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that whatever he’s getting himself into, he’ll feel safer if Potter’s aware of it - no matter how insufferable the Golden Boy is. 

He can’t help but wonder what the Gryffindor would think if he knew of the task assigned to him now. 

“Draco.” 

He shudders involuntarily at the sound of his godfather’s oily voice but turns around slowly. 

Severus Snape’s black eyes show no sympathy, only cold calculation. 

“I still don’t understand,” Draco says quietly, his voice trembling, “Why I have to do it.” 

Snape doesn’t answer. Nearby, Narcissa sobs silently into a handkerchief. It’s Bellatrix who answers, her high voice mocking, “Because your daddy can’t do his job properly!” 

“Quiet, Bellatrix.” Snape inclines his head. “Think of it as a test, Draco. Complete it, and you will earn your place.” 

Draco’s wand hand twitches towards his left forearm. “But why now? I’ve… I’ve only just begun.” 

“You will succeed.” Snape sounds utterly sure. “The task will be completed, and the Dark Lord will be satisfied. Trust me on this.” 

Draco looks to his mother, who won’t meet his eyes. “Do I have to do it properly? With magic?” 

“As long as he ends up dead, the Dark Lord will be satisfied,” Snape repeats. 

Draco rests his hands on the mantle to stop them from shaking. Ten months. Within ten months, he will become a murderer. He always thought he knew where his life was going. Perhaps not where he’d want it to go, but it would satisfy him. And now… 

Snape retrieves a sheet of parchment from inside his robes. Once white and crisp, it’s yellowed and curled on the edges with age. Draco watches as he walks forward and tosses it into the fire. 

For a moment, the flames turn as red as Voldemort’s eyes, and Draco feels a wrench of loss as he watches his future go up in smoke.

[Translation from French:

“I - I’m happy.”

“Are you happy, my little dragon?”

“Yes, Mother.”]


	41. Infinite Grace

Draco couldn’t tell how much time passed within the Room of Requirement. From the moment he stepped in, the chamber was steeped in pitch-black, as if someone had just thrown Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. He’d felt his way into a warm space, knees knocking against a bed-like shape; it was soft and cushy, and covered in plump pillows. 

He fell asleep from the sheer exhaustion of being alive. 

His dreams began and ended in undiscernible points in time. Draco remembered his childhood, the first time he met Potter, being sorted into Slytherin, all the moments that somehow led up to him being sworn into a cult of terror. But when its leader was vanquished, Draco had thought, _Now what?_

He asked himself the same question now, staring up into the void, his back pressed into an invisible mattress. Now what, indeed. 

When he was younger, about twelve or thirteen, Draco used to make lists. He’d organize his assignments, plots of revenge, snappy insults for Potter, people whom he liked, people whom he wouldn’t mind seeing dead - or at least seriously maimed. Crabbe and Goyle used to make fun of him for being so methodical. Draco let them if only to entertain himself. 

_Why’re you making extra work for yourself?_ Crabbe had asked, jaw hanging open dumbly. _If you want more homework, do mine for me. I dunno how to write stuff._

“But you did figure out how to write properly,” Draco said fondly into the darkness. “Fumbled your way into passing your O.W.L.s, didn’t you? Not without my help, of course.” 

A faint chuckle in the darkness. 

Draco sat up, his heart throwing itself against his ribs. Never in his many years exploring the Room of Requirement did he meet a ghost within it, but he wasn’t about to rule out the possibility. “Hello?” He called cautiously. 

The silence that ballooned felt cheeky, as if someone was holding their breath to keep from laughing. 

“If you won’t show yourself,” Draco said petulantly, “You might as well not exist.” He tried to sound cocky to comfort himself, but he didn’t relax for a long while. 

The seconds, minutes, or hours - Draco couldn’t tell - ticked by. “Okay…” He murmured to himself. “Where was I?” Right. Lists. 

Number one: Surely, every single person at Hogwarts, living or dead, knew that he and Harry were romantically involved. Their discovery would lead to some sort of consequences, but Draco tried not to think about that right now. 

Number two: Henrietta was in love with him. Supposedly, anyway. Draco couldn’t believe that anyone would ever love him…except for the fact that Potter did. Which brought him to his next point. 

Number three: Draco was utterly, impossibly, in love with Harry Potter. He covered his face with his hands in the dark, smiling beneath his palms. How had it come to this? How had he allowed himself to become so vulnerable? It wasn’t Harry’s eyes that kept him by his side, the iridescent green that became Draco’s favorite color the moment he saw him. It wasn’t his lips that he’d gotten used to having all to himself. Instead, Draco figured he loved Harry for all the reasons he used to hate him. For the heart that forgave so sincerely, the hands that steadied the stumbling, the smile that reassured the helpless. 

Potter possessed infinite grace, an attribute that Narcissa had often attempted to teach Draco and various other young purebloods during pre-Hogwarts etiquette lessons. According to her, grace meant mostly patience, but perhaps a bit of mercy and compassion, as well. It was the ability to be polite under pressure, to remain smiling in a bad situation, to encourage others and the self to continue living even in the darkest of times. 

Grace had never come easily to Draco. But for Harry, he’d leastwise try. 

He tilted his head to the not-quite-silent shadows. Yes, at least one entity hummed about here, whether it was a manifestation of the Room of Requirement itself, or something more sinister. But Draco felt sure that it wouldn’t hurt him - or else, couldn’t. 

He touched a pale hand to his forehead, surprised to find it slick with sweat. He looked down at himself, even though he couldn’t see, and noticed how hungry he suddenly felt. _How long have I been in here?_

“I’d like to leave now, please,” Draco commanded, voice trembling. “If you’ll allow it.” 

For a moment, the Room did not respond. But then a scraping noise echoed from the far end of the chamber, and a square of morning light slid into existence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure this is the shortest chapter so far. I couldn't resist digging around in Draco's mind at least a little bit; his character has so many layers that can't all be discovered within the span of one fanfiction. I also put a bit of a sinister spin on the Room of Requirement - after all, people have died in there...


	42. Affection

“What are you lot doing here?” 

Harry’s glasses flashed as he turned his head. Behind them, his eyes narrowed. 

Ron and Hermione came to a halt a few feet away, within speaking distance, though far enough to leave a deliberate gap. Ron’s brow was furrowed in anger, while a mixture of emotions danced across Hermione’s face - above all, she seemed distressed. 

“Nice way to greet your best mates,” Ron said gruffly. 

Harry laughed, sarcastic, high-pitched. “Best _mates?_ You mean the people that ignored me for weeks for no reason?” 

“For no reason?” Hermione echoed softly. “Harry, we were worried about you.” 

“Dragon dung,” Harry spat. “If you were actually worried about me, you’d _talk_ to me.” 

“Can’t exactly do that if you’re hanging off Malfoy’s arm all day, can we?” Ron asked, though there was less vitriol in his voice than Harry expected. 

“Stop it!” Hermione reprimanded him, laying a firm hand on his arm as Harry balled his fists. “Harry…we saw what happened at dinner.” 

“Congratulations, you have functioning eyeballs,” Harry muttered, letting his fingers relax. 

“It made us realize,” Hermione continued as if she hadn’t heard him, “That we need to be there for you.” 

The apparent sincerity in her voice made Harry’s eyes sting - but not because he felt at all guilty. Of _course,_ they should have been there for him. He wanted Hermione and Ron by his side from the very beginning. He wouldn’t have ever come out as bi if he suspected they wouldn’t support him. Over the last few weeks, Harry had missed them more than he would ever admit, but he’d also learned that he didn’t need them anymore. He’d grown into his own person, no longer part of a three. 

“So, why weren’t you?” 

“Because we’re idiots,” Ron stated, and Hermione looked to the ground in shame. “And because we’re afraid of losing you.” 

Harry blinked in surprise. 

“You think we’d just let you go off with a Death - sorry - former Death Eater with no questions asked?” Ron asked, gesturing widely. “We thought he was trying to get close to you to…attack you, or something. Not because he genuinely liked you.” 

“And you were wrong.” 

“Well, yes.” Ron rubbed the back of his neck. “Extremely wrong. We jumped to conclusions.” 

“Hell of a leap,” Harry remarked, crossing his arms. 

“I suppose,” Ron said sheepishly. “But I - we figured, you two have stayed together this long. Surely there’s something…real there.” 

Hermione nodded in agreement. “Not to mention all the shit you’ll go through now that Parkinson’s outed you,” She added grimly. “I think you’ll need allies now more than ever.” 

“That good-for-nothing Slytherin,” Ron growled, and it took Harry a second to realize he was talking about Pansy. “Your relationship is not her bloody business.” 

“Yeah, could you imagine caring about who dates who?” Harry said dryly. 

Hermione and Ron exchanged a panicked look. Harry smirked at their reactions; Draco’s mannerisms were rubbing off on him more than he realized. 

“All right, we deserved that,” Ron said, raising his hands in surrender when he realized Harry was at least half-joking. “Bottom line is…I’m really sorry, mate. We should have treated you better.” 

“I’m sorry, too,” Hermione said quietly. “I hope you can forgive us, Harry. We want to help.” 

The flickering torchlight deepened the shadows in their concerned expressions. Harry sighed. They had hurt him, for sure. But he wanted to be rid of the pain they’d caused as soon as possible, and the only way to do that was through forgiveness. Which would be a lot easier to grant if they helped him out. 

“Okay.” At that moment, their faces brightened, and Harry felt that he’d made the right decision. “But promise me you’ll give Draco the same apology when you see him.” 

They promised. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Ron asked, and Harry felt a sudden sense of déjà vu, remembering a similar question Ron had posed in the autumn chill as they stood beneath an oiled-canvas ceiling. 

“First, we find Henrietta Carrow.”

• • •

During the next few days, Harry somehow felt terribly alone and not at all lonely at the same time. To his pleasant surprise, Oliver Valdez, Erin Moore, and Owen Ibori all sought him to check to see if he was okay. 

“I guessed you two were together,” Erin had said, about Draco, with a half-grin. “You’ve got that in-love glow about you.” 

Luna and Ginny offered him some comfort, as well. Harry discovered that Ginny had punched Pansy square in the face after dinner, earning her a two weeks’ worth of detentions from McGonagall. Tabitha Nott and Cassandra Cheung had reportedly tried to hold their friend back, though Luna remarked that they didn’t seem to be trying very hard. Harry found this news strangely heartening; perhaps he and Draco had more supporters than he’d initially thought. 

But he didn’t allow himself to be complacent. As Ollie had put it, “Even if some people aren’t outright homophobic, they’ll let their friends be.” 

Thus, Harry avoided the bulk of the student body as much as possible, spending the weekend in the Owlery with Athena or on the Black Lake’s far side with Ron and Hermione. Monday’s classes were tense, to say the least, and Harry didn’t get through the day without a few insults and not-so-sneaky kicks aimed at him from beneath the desks. 

The hardest part was being without Draco. 

Harry could handle not having him around for a few days. It was the not knowing that he was okay, having no idea what the Room of Requirement was doing to him, unsure if Draco would even emerge. The worries woke Harry every following night, leaving him drenched in sweat and his ears searching the silence for a sign of Draco’s return. Between dodging his classmate’s blows and studying in the most secluded parts of the castle, Harry wandered the seventh-floor corridor, pacing, repeating every variation of _please bring Draco back_ in his mind. 

Then there was the matter of Henrietta. It was Hermione who found her, a blanket over her head in the Slytherin girls’ dormitory. As it turned out, Henrietta had been over Draco for months, and was merely afraid of what Pansy would do to her if she sided with him and Harry. Once she found out Hermione knew how to cast a good Frog-Eyes Hex and Ginny Weasley was friends with Harry, Henrietta seemed comfortable enough to retract her friendship from Pansy. The dark-haired Slytherin, nose only just fixed by Madam Pomfrey after Ginny’s righteous blitz, responded with a nasally, “Whatever.” 

Early Tuesday morning, Harry sat under the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy with Luna, who sent pink and purple clouds of smoke into the air with her wand. 

“What color do you feel like today?” She asked conversationally. 

“Blue,” Harry replied immediately. His own wand, limply gripped, lay next to him on the stone floor. 

“Any particular shade?” Luna twirled her wand, muttered something under her breath, and the clouds congealed into a translucent butterfly. 

Harry watched the butterfly glide down a ray of morning sunlight. He thought of the blue in Draco’s eyes, an icy ring that he could only see when he was close. “Er, no. Just…blue.” Out of politeness, he added, “What about you?” 

“I think…Brown.” Luna mused. “The warm, cozy kind. Door.” 

Harry glanced at her in confusion. “Like the brown of a door?” 

“No.” Luna shook her head, made the butterfly dissipate, and pointed down the corridor. “A door,” She repeated, eyes alight with intrigue. 

Harry scrambled to his feet, Luna jogging to keep up with him as he skidded to the door that had appeared in the wall. Without wasting another second, Harry turned the knob and threw it open. 

Utter blackness met him at the threshold. A shiver ran through Harry as he realized that beyond it, the sunlight didn’t pierce the shadow, as if the entire Room of Requirement was filled with unmovable ink. “Draco?” He called cautiously, reluctant to step inside. 

A pale figure suddenly melted out of the dark and staggered forward. Harry caught Draco Malfoy in his outstretched arms, wavering slightly from the weight of him. His body felt warm, warmer than Harry had ever felt it, his head drooping from exhaustion. “Draco…” Harry whispered his name gently, handling him as if he might break. 

With great effort, Draco steadied himself and met his eyes. His blond hair was disheveled, gaze muddled, shirt crinkly, and musty with lack of washing. Still, he managed a slight smile, lips chapped. “Hey, Potter,” He greeted casually as if he hadn’t been missing for days. His voice sounded terribly hoarse. 

Harry frowned as his hands rested on Draco’s torso; he could feel his ribs plainly through the stretched-thin flesh. “Oh, Merlin. You haven’t eaten since Saturday, have you?”

Draco snickered, then turned his head to cough. “Astutely observed.” 

“We should take him to the hospital wing,” Luna said, silver eyes wide with concern. “Come on, we’ve got plenty of time before the first bell. Is your bag in there, Draco?” She asked, indicating the shadow-soaked chamber. 

“No,” he and Harry said in unison. “It’s under your bed,” Harry told him. 

“I hope you’ve resisted the urge to defile my textbooks, Potter.” 

“As surely as you’ll keep using humor as a coping mechanism,” Harry remarked, letting Draco lean on him as they edged down the corridor. 

“Mm. Got any water?” 

“You haven’t drunk any water?” Harry yelped as they reached the top of the staircase. “You’ve got your wand, right?” 

“Yeah.” Draco cleared his throat. “Just…forgot.” 

“Here, I’ve got it.” Luna retrieved a large glass bottle from her bag, filled with sprigs of lavender. She dumped the plants back into the bag, then tapped the mouth of the bottle. “ _Aguamenti._ ” 

Draco took it hurriedly and raised it to his lips. Harry watched in shock as he downed the entirety of the water in about three seconds. Draco stifled a belch and handed the container back to a composed Luna. “Thanks.” 

“Merlin’s third leg,” Harry tutted as they started slowly down the stairs. “Thought you’d remember to drink something, at least.” 

“You sound like my mother,” Draco grumbled. 

Harry squeezed his shoulder in an affectionate reprimand. “I don’t care if I sound like I’m talking in Mermish. As long as you’re taking care of yourself.” 

The several flights of stairs seemed to take forever; Harry tried to keep himself and Draco moving even as his shoulder ached with the effort of supporting him. It was motivation enough to be near him, hearing his shallow breath, feeling his feverish heat. 

Luckily, most of Hogwarts still attended to breakfast, and their trek remained uninterrupted all the way to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey, spotting a feeble student in the doorway, immediately rushed from her office to aid them. 

“I’ve got him,” She reassured Harry, guiding Draco to sit on the nearest cot. Still, Harry stuck to him like glue, remaining by his side as Madam Pomfrey dashed off, likely for healing potions. 

Luna smiled indulgently as Harry took Draco’s hand. “I’ll leave you two be. Goodbye, Harry. Draco.” 

“Thanks for your help, Luna,” Harry told her gratefully. 

“Harry…” Draco began once she left, and Harry stared at him, startled. 

“That’s my first name,” He said blankly. 

“Yes, well, I’m talking to you.” Draco took a deep breath. “I have something to confess.” 

“Oh?” 

“Potter, don’t you have class?” Madam Pomfrey materialized behind them, precariously holding three various-colored bottles. She glanced down at their entwined hands but made no comment. 

“Yes, but…” Harry trailed off as the first bell began to clang. “Um...” 

“He’ll be taken care of,” She said, giving him a meaningful look. “Don’t you worry.” 

“Right.” Reluctantly, Harry slipped his hand from Draco’s and stood from the bed. “I’ll see you later.” He tried to read Draco’s eyes as he did so, wondering what he wanted to say. The word “confess” didn’t bode well. 

“Go on.” Draco inclined his head. “I’m fine.” 

Harry hesitated for a moment, but one look inside the surety of those silver eyes, and he chose to trust. “I’ll see you later, okay?” 

A nod, a shadow of a smile. “You’d better.”

• • •

[Reader’s Warning: The following scene contains anti-gay slurs.] 

A flurry of gray feathers and incessant hooting showered upon Harry as he entered the castle. Spluttering, he spit one out of his mouth and looked wildly around as Athena landed on his shoulder. “Oh - hello.” Athena head-butted Harry affectionately, her talons uncomfortably digging into his skin. 

“Dropped this,” Henrietta said, picking up a folded sheaf of parchment. 

“Thanks.” Harry hadn’t quite gotten used to having her around, but he wasn’t about to object to having another friend. He took the parchment and unfolded it: **Left the hospital wing. In the dormitory now.** Harry smiled at the familiar cursive script. **P.S. I sent Athena because you don’t visit her enough, dolt.** “Yes, yes, I’m paying attention to you now,” Harry said, petting the owl’s head. Athena nipped his finger before taking off again, using his shoulder as a launching pad. “Er…Henrietta?” 

“Yes?” Although she’d been trying to act casual, Harry could tell she was hanging around to see what the letter said. 

“D’you want to come see Draco?” 

“Um…no, that’s all right.” A faint blush crept across Henrietta’s face. “I think it might be a bit awkward. Because of what Pansy said, I mean.” 

“Right.” 

“But I’ll catch up with him later.” She waved goodbye, hesitated in the hallway, and headed off towards the library. 

Apprehension swelled like helium in Harry’s chest as he made for the dungeon. A few students shouted his name as he went, likely followed by some uninspired, homophobic insult, but he moved too quickly to hear it. 

_I have something to confess._

After the whole “I-think-I-killed-someone” debacle, Harry was sure Draco had run out of secrets. But perhaps his Death Eater past was shrouded in more layers of shadow than he anticipated. Harry wondered how long this would go on for, the self-doubt, the guilt, the whispering of secrets in the dark. 

But it didn’t matter, not really, because Draco was still Draco no matter what he did in the past, and Harry had already fallen this deep. He might as well stay by his side, continue to help him grow, teach him how to forgive himself. For however long they were together, whether that be months, or years, or… 

The thought stopped Harry cold in the middle of the Slytherin common room. A few younger students pushed past him, muttering, “Out of the way, fag.” 

“Piss off,” said Harry automatically, but the gears of his brain were turning over an altogether different idea. _Years?_ He mouthed to himself as he headed for the dormitory. Well…he wasn’t planning to break up with Draco after Hogwarts. Hopefully, they’d stay together as Aurors - working as exes would be painfully awkward, to say the least. 

Harry would have continued to pick along this trail of thought had someone not opened the door and yanked him inside the dormitory before he could even knock. 

“ _Colloportus_ ,” Draco said breathlessly, and the door slammed behind him. “Harry, I need to tell you something.” 

“Um, hi,” Harry said, a bit taken aback. Madam Pomfrey had done good work in only a day; Draco’s cheeks were flushed with health, and his silver eyes practically sparkled in the dim green light of the dormitory. “Feeling better, then?” 

“Yes, I’m fine,” Draco said hurriedly. His chest rose and fell heavily beneath a black turtleneck as if he’d just played in the Quidditch World Cup. “I love you,” He declared. “I love you, Harry Potter, and I’m sorry it took me so long to admit it.” Suddenly overwhelmed with the words, he broke eye contact, strode away, and stiffly perched upon his bed. 

Harry’s heart seemed too big for his body. He was at a loss for words, so instead of replying, he walked over and sat next to him. 

“I know this may not seem like a big deal,” Draco said quietly, looking at the ceiling. “But it is for me. I’ve never…” He spread his hands. “I’ve never felt this much for anyone else. I don’t know what to do with all of this…this _emotion._ It scares me, but it’s kind of exciting, too. Do you know what I mean?” He turned to Harry, eyes wide with the question. 

“Yes. Yeah, I - I do.” Harry reached over and held his hands. “Thank you for telling me.” 

Draco sighed with relief. He leaned in and kissed him. It felt so different from the first time, not frantic nor desperate, not with the panic of those who think what they’re doing is wrong. Harry felt unbelievably lucky to be alive at this moment, with Draco Malfoy, the boy he’d never expected to love this much. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Harry began as they broke apart, “About what will happen after graduation.” 

A flash of worry in Draco’s eyes. “Are you…?” He didn’t finish. 

“No! Merlin, no,” Harry shook his head fervently. “I was just thinking…since we’ll be going to school in the same place, maybe we should find a flat in Cambridge this summer. Unless you want to live in your family’s manor.” 

“I don’t.” Draco’s mouth twitched. “Potter, are you asking me to live with you?” 

“Well, I - um.” His face felt warm. “Yes.” 

Draco laughed, and it sounded like honey. “Sixteen-year-old me would be horrified at the idea.” 

“Is that a yes?” 

He grinned. “A definite yes.” His eyes, for the first time in years, were bright with the future.


	43. The Nature of Magic

Another day. Another twenty-four hours fueled by adrenaline, glancing over his shoulder, trudging through class, avoiding eye contact, sticking only to those he knew best. 

Harry woke at dawn, though he didn’t properly register it - the bed hangings deep beneath the castle let in none of the stray glow from the lake. He felt around for his glasses, slipped them on, and the shadows grew sharper at the edges. He took a deep breath and silently began to count to twenty. 

At seventeen, a pale hand silently drew back the curtain. Draco, half-dressed, his hair hurriedly brushed, leaned over to mutter, “Fifteen minutes, Potter.” 

“Got it.” Draco disappeared behind the deep green, and Harry blinked himself to full consciousness before rolling out of bed. 

Every spray of water, every rustle of fabric, reverberated like a gong in the early morning stillness. Harry dressed as quickly and as quietly as possible, listening attentively for any sign of his peers waking. For the past week, he and Draco had gone through the same routine, staying ahead of the crowd, lingering in classes when teachers were nearby, sticking in groups. Hermione had given them plenty of warning about what happened to gay couples who didn’t take precautions; Harry had no idea if students would dare try anything within Hogwarts walls, but he wasn’t about to risk it. Already, kids from all houses had been getting bolder and bolder, catcalling Draco and Harry in the hallways, sending Tripping Jinxes, and generally trying to make their lives worse. 

But the puerile shenanigans of the younger students didn’t bother Harry much. He had Draco, and his friends back, and that was enough for him. 

Hermione, a bit uncharacteristically, was already waiting for them in the common room. Unsurprisingly, she had her nose in a book, a slim volume of poetry. Harry wondered when she’d gotten into poetry, and if Draco had finished the collection she’d lent him. 

“Good morning,” She said politely as Harry exited the dormitory, careful to let the door close slowly behind him. Draco, perched on a chair nearby, stood as Harry drew closer. 

“Ready?” Harry held out his hand, and Draco took it. 

“As I’ll ever be.” 

“Is Ron not awake yet?” Hermione asked as they headed out of the dungeon. When Harry shook his head, she sighed, “One of these days.” 

“One of these days, we won’t have to be so careful,” Harry hoped. 

“Your optimism is astounding,” Draco said with a raised eyebrow, though his tone sounded more impressed than sarcastic. 

The empty corridors seemed to stretch for miles under their quiet footsteps. Dawn filtered from gray to pink through the enormous windows, illuminating the cobblestones. Sitting in one panel of light near the staircase was Luna, softly singing a song under her breath that she evidently made up as she went along. 

“ _Bend like the willows, my dear, my dear, sift through the clouds, my dear, my dear…_ ” She smiled when she spotted her friends but didn’t stop singing until they had reached her. “Good afternoon.” 

“It’s morning,” Hermione corrected. 

“It feels like afternoon to me,” Luna said serenely. “Let’s go, then.” She glided in front, leading them into the dining hall. 

The vast space yawned before them, the absence of students palpable in every stretch of empty bench. A single Ravenclaw, around fourth or fifth year, flipped blearily through a textbook and didn’t look up when they came in. The only teacher at the head table was Professor Dahlia, who scribbled on a long scroll of parchment between sparse bites of oatmeal. 

Breakfast passed with a peaceful mundanity, the smell of cinnamon, eggs, and black pepper drifting from the enchanted plates. Luna did most of the talking, describing an encounter she had with a thestral that weekend, her flow broken only by Hermione’s skeptical questions. 

“If you doubt me so much,” Luna said, swirling a goblet of pumpkin juice, “Why don’t you come see them with me?” 

Hermione paled. “No, thanks.” 

At the front of the hall, Dahlia noisily rolled up her parchment and left the chamber. A few students began to trickle in, yawning and chatting. Luckily, they didn’t notice Draco and Harry through the mental haze of Monday morning. 

“Time to go,” Hermione said, and the group hastily stood to leave, Luna and Hermione flanking their friends from the watchful eyes of their fellow students. Luna walked with them all the way to Professor Dahlia’s classroom, said goodbye to each of her friends in turn, and twirled away to her own class, humming the same tune from before. 

Hermione placed her bag on the floor and slid down the stone to sit. Harry followed suit, though Draco remained standing, rummaging about in his satchel for something. “Today should be easy for you,” Hermione remarked conversationally. 

“Why?” 

“Patronuses, Harry, remember?” Hermione said, gesturing exasperatedly. “Professor Dahlia mentioned it at the end of class last time.” 

“Oh…I kind of tune out when the bell rings,” Harry said sheepishly. 

“Hmph. Well, it should be quite easy. Ooh, I wonder if we’re learning the theory, too?” Hermione’s eyes shone. 

“Probably not with Dahlia.” 

“You never know.” She sounded hopeful. “Draco, what’s your Patronus?” 

Draco looked up from the book he’d been perusing. “Didn’t hear you.” 

“Your Patronus,” Harry repeated. “I’ve got a stag. ‘Mione, yours is an otter, right?” She nodded. 

Draco pursed his lips, eyes barely meeting Harry’s before sliding down again. “I don’t…I don’t have one.” 

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Hermione said breezily. “It’s simple, especially if there aren’t any dementors around.” 

Apparently, she hadn’t picked up on Draco’s energy, but Harry didn’t miss it - the furrow in his brow when the question was asked, the tension at the word “dementors.” Harry cleared his throat to prepare to speak, then decided against it. 

Draco noticed this and glanced at him. “What?” 

“Nothing, I…” Harry trailed off, biting his lip. Draco’s eyes narrowed by a fraction of a degree, and he tilted his head slightly. Harry could almost hear him say, _“What is it? Tell me.”_ Harry shook his head, once. _Not now._ Hermione looked between them but didn’t comment. 

The door to the classroom suddenly opened. Professor Dahlia stopped at the threshold, surprised to see them, a half-eaten pastry clutched in her hand and a roll of parchment tucked between her arm. There was a beat of awkward silence as she looked at each of them in turn, three students inexplicably hanging about the hallway nearly an hour before class. 

“Good morning,” She said finally. “What are you all doing here so early?” 

Harry glanced at Hermione, then Draco. “We were just…er.” He trailed off. 

“To be honest, Professor,” Draco said smoothly, “That would take too long to explain.” 

Dahlia gave him a searching look, then shrugged. “Right on. You guys can go in if you want. I’ll be back in a mo’, just need to send a letter.” She held the door open for them, and the trio filed in with murmured thanks. “Oh, hey,” Professor Dahlia added, “Could you stack the desks? Just to clear a space.” 

“Of course,” Hermione replied. 

“Great. I’ll come back with house points.” Dahlia winked before letting the door close behind her. 

Harry dropped his bag in the corner and walked over to the nearest desk, lifting the chair, flipping it over, and sliding it on top. Then he hesitated, muttering, “We should probably move the desks before stacking them…” 

“Potter,” Draco said from behind, “What the hell are you doing?” 

“Huh?” Harry turned around to see both his boyfriend and Hermione giving him strange looks, their wands out. “I’m stacking the - oh.” He felt his face warm. “Magic.” 

Hermione tutted, smiling indulgently. “If you want to do this by hand, we can.” 

“No, no, that’s all right,” Harry slipped a hand into his robes for his own wand. “Sorry. Side-effect of being raised by Muggles.” 

“I lived with Muggles as a kid, too,” Hermione pointed out as she slid a group of desks against the wall with one wave, “You just get lost in your own thoughts sometimes, Harry.” 

Harry made a face but didn’t argue, beginning to float another row of desks on top of Hermione’s. Draco frowned as he moved beanbags. “Did you say you were raised by Muggles?” 

“Yeah, my whole life.” Harry paused his work and turned to his boyfriend, whose silver eyes had gone wide. “You didn’t know?” 

“No,” said Draco in a small voice. He seemed embarrassed. “I thought…After third year, you, I don’t know, went to live with my mother’s cousin. Sirius.” 

Harry blinked. “Er, you knew that I talked about going to live with my godfather, but you didn’t know that I lived with Muggles for seventeen years?” 

“Word gets around, Potter.” Draco flushed. “Hold on. Sirius Black was your _godfather_?” The pitch of his voice rose in confusion. 

Hermione, who was about to finish their task, laughed in spite of herself. “Looks like you two have some catching up to do.” She put the final chair into place with a clunk. 

“You didn’t know about Sirius?” Harry goggled. “I wouldn’t go live with a stranger.” 

“Well, you didn’t tell me, did you?” Draco’s face pinched as if he’d sucked on a lemon. “Ugh, that means we’re related. In a way.” 

“As if all purebloods aren’t related,” Harry said dryly. 

Draco wrinkled his nose. “The worst part of that statement is that it’s true.” 

Hermione made a noise of disgust. “Ugh, really?” 

“In one way or another,” Draco admitted. 

“Yuck.” 

“I know. Potter, why,” Draco began, wandering over to the beanbags in the corner, “Have you never told me about your family?” He flopped down resolutely on one. 

Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance. The room temperature seemed to lower by a few degrees; Harry shuddered as he remembered. A flash of green light. The sizzling of bacon. Cobwebs hanging over his bed like unraveling ghosts. “We’ll talk about it later,” Harry said firmly, and without another word, sat next to him. It took Draco a moment to realize that he’d struck a nerve, but when he did, he murmured, “All right,” and put an arm around Harry’s shoulder. 

Hermione watched this interaction with a sort of affable curiosity, then turned away pointedly to give them privacy. 

It wasn’t long before the voices of their fellow eighth years began to leak through the door to the classroom. Hermione rocked back and forth on her feet a few times. “Should we let them in?” 

“We can wait for Dahlia,” Harry murmured sleepily, his head drooping onto Draco’s shoulder. _Someone this pointy has no right being such a wonderful pillow,_ he thought. But Draco’s robes were soft and warm and freshly laundered, and his shoulders rose and fell slightly with every breath, with a rhythm akin to a gently rocking boat… 

“Don’t _ever_ use that word!” Someone shouted from outside, and Harry jumped awake. He and Draco scrambled to their feet as the door abruptly swung open. “Inside!” Professor Dahlia pointed sharply into the classroom, and ten students silently filed in. They all seemed mortified, in varying degrees. Ron’s lips were pressed into a thin line as he strode towards his friends. 

“What happened?” Hermione asked him under her breath as he approached, and Draco and Harry leaned in to listen.

“Pansy called you,” Ron nodded to the boys, “Fa…I mean. You know. And Dahlia heard.” 

Harry glanced at Pansy, who was flushed, her small, dark eyes fixed on the ground. 

“Forward, please, and stop talking,” Professor Dahlia commanded as she strode to the front of the room. At her tone, the students obeyed, glancing at each other nervously and bringing their hushed conversations to a halt. “It’s come to my attention that some people think it’s okay to bully others for the things they cannot change.” Her eyes were bright and livid. “But let me make this crystal clear. If I hear _anyone_ using any kind of derogatory slur, I promise you that you’ll spend the rest of your afternoons this year scrubbing toilets.” Professor Dahlia’s stern, McGonagall-like gaze swept over her class, briefly resting on Pansy, who looked more angry than embarrassed. “Is that clear?” 

A mumble of assent through the room. 

“I said, is that clear?” 

“Yes, Professor Dahlia.” 

She sighed and pressed a hand to her head, leaning against her desk. After a few tense, silent moments, Dahlia seemed to gather herself, and looked about the class again, her face relaxed. “Okay. Let’s start the lesson, shall we?” She took out her wand, then looked to Harry, Hermione, and Draco in the corner. “Five points each to Slytherin and Gryffindor, by the way. I haven’t forgotten.” Professor Dahlia pointed her wand into the air. “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ”

A silver light bloomed from the tip, and a pale, cat-shaped thing leaped into the air, bounding around the classroom. Harry saw that it was a tiger, its stripes made of slightly darker silver than the rest of it, its large paws pressing powerfully against the imaginary ground. The class oohed and ahhed as Dahlia directed the Patronus with casual flicks of her wand, causing it to finally rest upon her desk, glowing tail swishing slowly in content. 

“Light magic,” She began, in the voice she used for lectures, and Hermione reached for her bag. “No need to take notes, I promise,” Dahlia told her with a smile, and Hermione reluctantly left it alone. “You won’t be tested on this, but it’s important. Remember that light magic does not come from here,” She waved her wand, “But from here.” She rested a hand on her chest. “I certainly hope someone covered that for you in first year. _All_ magic, Dark or light, comes from the heart and the mind. Now, can anyone tell me why we study Defense Against the Dark Arts?” 

Harry put his hand up along with most of the class. 

“Harry?” 

“To learn how to fight back,” He said confidently. “To defend ourselves against users of Dark magic.” 

Professor Dahlia tapped her chin. “That’s a right answer,” She admitted. “But not the one I’m looking for. Anyone else?” She glanced about the room, but the class seemed stumped. “No? Well, I’ll give you a hint. There’s more to defend ourselves against than evil-doing outsiders.” 

A beat of thoughtful silence. Hermione bit her lip, thinking, then tentatively raised her hand. 

“Yeah, Hermione?” 

“Do you…” She hesitated. “Do you mean ourselves? Fighting against the inherent darkness within ourselves?” 

“Well-worded, Hermione. Three points to Gryffindor.” Dahlia nodded approvingly. “Yes, that’s more or less what I’m getting at. Humans, Muggle or no, inherently have light and dark parts, our wistful hopes and tendency to kindness constantly at war with our nightmares and thirst for revenge.” Professor Dahlia swept her wand through her Patronus, which dissipated, leaving the chamber slightly darker. “As magic users, we are able to channel our souls, in their entirety, through our wands. But we cannot treat this responsibility lightly. Let your lightness, your kindness, shine through your magic. ‘Cast with compassion,’ as one of my own teachers used to say. Because doing the opposite can have destructive results.” Her warm eyes landed on someone. “Draco, would you like to share your thoughts on this?” 

He looked surprised to be addressed directly. The class all turned to look at him, half of them judgmental, half curious. Harry watched Draco’s pale throat move with a nervous swallow, his silver eyes wandering in thought. “I…don’t have much else to say. I agree with you, I suppose.” 

Dahlia pursed her lips as if disappointed. “Well, think about it. Okay, spread out, everyone,” She said, motioning for them to stand farther apart from each other. “I’ve heard most of you already know the Patronus Charm, so today should be review. Think of a happy memory, of course, but don’t just say the incantation flippantly. _Intent_ , class, intent is everything. Go on.” 

Separating himself from his friends, Harry meandered to an empty space on the cobblestone, pulling out his wand and shaking back his sleeve. He closed his eyes for a moment, searching for a memory. Draco sprang to his mind immediately, but Harry flipped through the moments spent with him like files in a drawer, digging for one untainted by guilt, shame, or uncertainty. 

Blooms of heather and fields of herbs sprawled across a hidden landscape. His hands caressed Draco’s tearstained cheeks, lips moving next to his ear, forming words for the first time: _I love you._

Harry opened his eyes to the classroom, draped in colorful scarves and filled with murmurs. Feeling as light as helium, Harry threw out a spell as he held the mint-scented memory. “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” His trusty stag barreled into the air, tossing its antlered head, leaving vapors of silver as it leapt over his classmates’ heads. The students gasped in surprise as the first Patronus galloped around, and a few of them grinned at the sight. 

“Nice one,” Dahlia said appreciatively. “Focus, the rest of you. I’m sure you can all manage corporeal Patronuses by the end of the year.” 

As Harry’s Patronus faded, more spirals of silver and smoky light burst from his classmates’ wands. Hermione and Ron were next to succeed, his terrier playfully chasing her otter. Parvati’s butterfly, Dean’s boar, Seamus’s fox, and Padma’s hummingbird followed soon after. Harry grinned, eyes shining with pride as he watched the members of the D.A. execute the spell he’d taught them himself all those years ago. 

On the other side of the room, Henrietta only managed slight wisps of white, and Anaya jerked her wand to no effect. As Professor Dahlia walked over to instruct them, Harry sidled up to Draco, who was silently twirling his wand in the air. 

“Tried the incantation yet?” Harry asked. 

A line formed on Draco’s forehead. “Yes. But I can’t…think of anything. Nothing happy enough, anyway.” He seemed genuinely distressed, his voice trembling and wand dipping in defeat. 

_Doesn’t spending time with me make you happy?_ Harry almost asked, but he bit his tongue; surely Draco had thought of that already. And he certainly didn’t want to make him think his magic wasn’t good enough. “You’ll get it eventually,” Harry told him encouragingly. “It took me ages.” 

“At thirteen,” Draco pointed out. He sighed and let his wand hand drop. “I can’t focus in here, anyway.” But his words were unconvincing, and Harry read the despondency in his expression like a book. 

Harry glanced around the class; everyone was too busy either admiring their Patronuses or concentrating on casting the spell. He rested a hand on Draco’s shoulder, and the Slytherin seemed surprised at his touch. “Try again,” Harry said softly, remembering what Draco had said to him that blossom-covered day in Hogsmeade. About Harry’s presence being enough to make him feel better. 

Draco inhaled and exhaled. He pointed his wand into the air, eyes fixated on some imaginary, high-up spot, as if gazing at a star-filled sky. “ _Expecto Patronum_.” 

Harry didn’t blink, certain he’d seen a slight puff of something smoky… “Nothing.” Draco said frustratedly.

“Having trouble?” Professor Dahlia said from behind. Harry and Draco turned, a bit startled. Dahlia made no comment on their closeness and continued, “Some people use a trick to help them think of a memory. Say the incantation with a blank mind and see what comes up. Try it.” 

Draco nodded. Beneath his hand, Harry felt his muscles lose some of their tension. “ _Expecto Patronum._ ” Again, not even a wisp, and Draco’s jaw clenched in frustration. Professor Dahlia didn’t seem discouraged. 

“What did you think of?” Dahlia asked him. 

Silver eyes flickered to Harry. “Um…” 

“It’s all right if you’d rather not say,” She assured him. “But keep that memory in mind when you practice, okay?” 

“Yes, Professor.” 

She smiled and drifted away to Pansy, who was fiercely jabbing at the air while shouting the incantation, to no avail. 

“You’ll get it eventually,” Harry told Draco, squeezing his shoulder. 

“Eventually,” Draco echoed, absentmindedly twirling his wand between his fingers. His gaze had become faraway again, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder what memory he’d thought of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love when I can connect Hogwarts classes to the actual plot... Plus, magic is so fun to write about; it's easy to push the boundaries of reality and imagine new ways for how spells work.


	44. Fresh Air

Pink and gold murmured at the edge of the Black Lake, the sun reaching the end of its path. Spring wind rushed along the landscape, rustling leaves, creating tiny crests in the water, and making clouds scuttle along the sky. Two people stood by the shore, their backs to the castle. 

“Remember what Dahlia said,” Harry told Draco from behind him. “Form counts. Keep your head and wand up.” 

“I know, Potter,” Draco said brusquely, but Harry remained patient, reaching to touch Draco’s right wrist, lifting it higher. 

“Last one, okay?” Harry murmured, hands resting firmly on Draco’s shoulders. “We’ll work on it more later.” 

Draco closed his eyes, opened them. “Okay.” His torso moved with a breath, and Harry felt his nervous energy, felt the tension in his magic before he even said a word. “ _Expecto Patronum_.” 

Silence. Harry peered around Draco, staring at the tip of his wand, waiting for something, anything. 

Draco lowered his wand. “For fuck’s sake,” He muttered. 

“It’s just a mental block,” said Harry reassuringly as Draco turned away from the lake. “Sooner or later, you’ll get through it.” 

Instead of answering, Draco leaned down and kissed him. Harry could taste the fear and desperation on his lips, and he pulled him closer, taking his pain away and making it his own. Draco pulled away a bare centimeter, mouth brushing Harry’s as he murmured, “This would make a good memory.” Harry opened his eyes to see Draco, unsmiling, but with something like hope, or yearning, in his gaze. 

Reddish-golden light shone through the trunks of trees in shy beams, illuminating their faces. Harry touched Draco’s face, turned bronze by the fading sunlight, and found himself sinking into his eyes again. He had a sudden thought to take Draco into the woods, drag him to the ground, expose every inch of skin, worship his body with his hands and lips until he felt perfectly all right again. But the thought was just that, a thought, and Harry decided he would let it be. 

“Let’s go back,” Harry said to him. “We’ve still got homework.” 

The fresh air clung to their clothes all the way to the dungeons, where the subtle slimy musk didn’t quite permeate the walls of the well-kept Slytherin common room. The fireplace smoldered dimly, the green-lit torches the only thing lighting the chamber. A few younger Slytherins looked up as Harry and Draco came in and began to mutter and snicker among themselves. Draco kept his eyes straight ahead, and Harry followed his example, though he was tempted to shoot the whispering students a dirty look. 

“Hey, mate,” Ron said from the couch. He and Hermione leaned comfortably against each other on the sofa, she reading a book and he writing on a piece of parchment pressed against his leg. “Malfoy.” 

“I’ve told you,” Draco said, slightly irritable as he dropped his bag on the opposite couch, “You can call me Draco.” 

“So long as you call me Ron,” came the reply. There was a silent battle of wills as calculating silver met cold blue. 

“Fair enough,” Draco said finally, sitting gracefully upon the couch, and Harry joined him. 

“Why don’t you write on a table?” Harry asked Ron, and he looked up from his awkward writing position. 

“‘Mione’s too cozy,” He said with a grin, nodding at Hermione, who was slumped comfortably against him, her nose in a book. 

“You can move,” Hermione offered, glancing appreciatively at him. “I’m not stopping you.” 

“No, it’s all right.” Ron kissed the top of her head and continued writing. 

Harry smiled at the bubble of warmth they’d created; Hermione had confessed to him earlier that their relationship had become a bit strained in the weeks of Harry’s silent treatment, so it was nice to see them in sync again. 

Draco peered into his bag, frowned, then muttered, “Did we have Potions homework?” 

“Um…” Harry became momentarily distracted as a group of Slytherins barged noisily into the room, led by - his stomach performed an unpleasant turn - Pansy Parkinson. Most of the people behind her were girls, including Anaya, dead-eyed but grinning, and a few younger students. “I don’t…” 

“Finish it, finish it!” One of them giggled, and Pansy flicked open a glossy magazine, smirking as she did so. As surreptitiously as possible, Harry squinted to see the title: _Witch Weekly._

“‘There is much speculation about the nature of the Chosen One’s relationship with whom young wizards are calling the Heir to Evil,’” Pansy read loudly, practically waltzing through the common room, bringing as much attention to herself as possible. “‘One thing is for sure: Harry Potter has no idea what he’s gotten himself into. Hogwarts’s star pupil may have defeated the most powerful Dark wizard of this lifetime, but apparently, his combat skills don’t translate into common sense.’” Pansy threw a simpering look over her shoulder at Harry, who glared back. 

Next to him, Draco had his head bent resolutely over a random book, but Harry knew by his fixed gaze and clenched jaw that he was listening. 

“‘Even with the threat of You-Know-Who gone, eyes must be kept on this new development. If a Malfoy can beguile the Boy Who Lived, who knows what side they’ll be on in ten years?’ Ooh, how intriguing,” Pansy remarked, and in fact, most of the Slytherins did seem to be interested, listening to her with rapt attention. “What do you think dear Draco is capable of, Rosier?” 

“Can’t be much,” Anaya said with a chuckle that Harry couldn’t quite decipher from a forced laugh. “Fallen rather far from the top, hasn’t he?” 

Draco slammed his book shut; Ron and Hermione, who had been watching Pansy with concern, jumped at the sound. “I can’t concentrate, Potter. Maybe we ought to move.” 

Harry nodded quickly in agreement, and they both stood. “We can come with you,” Ron said hurriedly. 

Pansy swaggered over to them, holding the magazine like bait. “Come now, Draco. Don’t you want to read the rest?” 

Draco looked down his nose at her, his expression so purposefully, pompously pureblood that Harry almost laughed. “And why would I want to do that?” 

Pansy dangled the pages tauntingly. “Thought you’d be interested in how badly your precious reputation has been dragged through the mud.” Draco didn’t answer but laced his fingers with Harry’s in defiance. Harry felt a swell of pride and squeezed his hand. Pansy’s nose wrinkled, and she opened her mouth to throw another insult. 

“Come on, let’s have it, then,” Hermione snapped, stepping forward, and before Pansy could even register it, snatched the magazine right out of her hand. Pansy gaped. 

“What do you think you’re doing, Mudblood?” 

“Heard that one before,” Hermione replied bluntly as she skimmed the lines. “You pureblood supremacists are quite unoriginal. Don’t you think so, Draco?” 

Draco smirked. “Oh, yes.” 

“Hmm…Acting like children…suspected love potion…veela blood…” As Pansy looked between Draco and Hermione, shocked at the friendship they’d formed, Hermione finished scanning the article. “Just as I suspected. Rubbish.” She tossed the issue at Pansy’s feet. “I think you’d better be the one to move, Parkinson. Unless you’re willing to bring higher-quality reading material.” Hermione batted her eyelashes threateningly, which Harry hadn’t even realized was possible. 

Even Pansy recognized that Hermione had thoroughly trounced her with razor-sharp remarks. Face furiously red, she lifted the magazine from the ground with a flick of her wand and seized it from the air. “I’ll get you back,” She muttered darkly at Draco and stalked away. 

Hermione jovially waved her off. “I’m sure he’s looking forward to it!” 

In the ensuing silence, the Slytherins dispersed, some still muttering about the article, others glancing at Hermione as if she either impressed or scared them. She settled back into the couch, next to her boyfriend, satisfied with herself. 

Ron’s mouth hung open, and his expression had grown dreamy. “You’re brilliant,” He stated softly. 

Flushed with pleasure, Hermione became shy at his praise and shrugged modestly. “Well…it was nothing. What a rush, though,” She laughed, “It’s nice to get a little revenge on Parkinson after all those years of her being horrible.” 

“Thanks for that,” Draco told her genuinely. 

“Really, Hermione,” Harry said earnestly, “You’re the best. I’d like your autograph,” He joked. 

Hermione grinned. “I’ll work on perfecting it, just for you.” 

And just like that, Harry knew they were properly friends again. Ron put his arm around Hermione, and Draco kissed Harry’s cheek without checking to see if anyone was watching. The four - _the Golden Quartet?_ Harry thought it had a nice ring to it - finished up their homework together in the flickering torchlight, talking and laughing as if they’d never fought. Harry was grateful that Ron and Hermione had come back when he needed them most - but they abandoned him for weeks. He couldn’t forget that. So, Harry vowed not to, and chose to forgive instead. 

• • •

“Hello! You must be Ron and Hermione!” 

A spirited Hufflepuff with wide eyes the color of the ocean and a faint Irish accent leaped in front of them. It took Harry a moment to place her name: Erin. 

“That’s us,” Ron said, a bit taken aback. “Who are you?” 

“Erin Moore,” she replied, sticking out a hand. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Harry’s and Draco’s friend.” 

“They never mentioned you,” Hermione remarked, giving her friends a sidelong glance. 

“No,” Harry admitted, “Er…slipped my mind. We haven’t known each other long. Erin, is it all right if we all sit with you and the others?” 

“Yeah, of course! Follow me.” Erin turned and strolled away, weaving between the tables and moving crowd of students. 

“She a seventh-year?” Ron asked as they followed her. “I think I’ve seen her with Ginny a few times.” 

“Yeah,” Harry replied. 

The motley crew of students hadn’t changed much since Draco and Harry last sat with them. Owen, Padma, and Oliver looked up with polite smiles, Ollie grinning the broadest. Thankfully, Harry didn’t see any sign of Gavin; Padma seemed less tense as a result. “Make room, make room,” Erin singsonged, and the group shifted around to accommodate. 

“So, um,” Harry cleared his throat, “You all know Owen and Padma. Ollie, this is Ron and Hermione.” 

“ _The_ Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley?” Ollie’s eyes went owlish, and he shook both their hands with considerable enthusiasm. “Wow, it’s - it’s an honor to meet you both,” He stammered. 

“Thank you,” Ron said, taken aback. Hermione couldn’t even speak, but seemed pleasurably flustered, her posture straightening with pride. Harry couldn’t stop himself from grinning, happy that they were getting the recognition they deserved, but rarely received. 

“Well, this is shaping up to be an interesting night,” Ollie said, clasping his hands in excitement. “We’ll tell you the rules.” 

“Rules for what?” asked Hermione. 

“Owen, why don’t you do the honors?” 

Owen explained Oliver’s and Erin’s story game. Ron and Hermione nodded understandingly, though Harry could tell from their faces that they found the game a bit childish. 

“It’s quite fun, actually,” Harry assured them. 

“Draco, would you like to start?” Erin asked the Slytherin kindly. 

Draco looked startled at being addressed, but he got over his surprise quickly. Harry took this as a good sign; perhaps Draco was finally becoming more comfortable in the presence of near-strangers, finally getting used to the idea that not every student at Hogwarts hated him on sight. 

A friendly, warm atmosphere settled over the eight students as they relaxed in the golden candlelight. Utensils scraped quietly against plates as they passed around food, waiting for Draco to begin. He took a moment to think, pale fingers thoughtfully tracing the rim of his goblet. When he spoke, his silver eyes were focused on the people around him, no longer dipping to the table in hesitation. 

“Once upon a time…”


	45. Unspoken

_It’s the Dark Mark,_ Draco told himself. _It’s the Dark Mark’s fault I can’t do this._

It was certainly easier to blame his apparent incompetence on a permanent, enchanted tattoo rather than his own damaged soul. Every time he tried to create his own happiness, to let his smile linger, to forget that he was branded forever, the burning feeling in his forearm reminded him. The black snake twisting beneath his skin slithered to his heart and squeezed and squeezed. 

Draco didn’t understand how it got this bad. Didn’t know why, ever since he heard the Dark Lord’s voice in the Room of Requirement, the Dark Mark wouldn’t leave him alone. The pain, and its magnitude, was easy enough to keep at bay. Especially with Harry around. Harry, whose gentle words and lips kept the shadows from overtaking the sunlight for long enough. 

Trying to cast a Patronus pushed Draco to his limit. _Forcing_ happy memories, delving deep within himself for just a modicum of joy made the serpent rear its terrible head, made it snarl, and push back against his efforts. Draco didn’t like tunneling into his past, even if it was to hunt for the good parts. 

“Take a break,” Harry instructed, brow furrowing in concern. They were by the lake again, shoes sinking into the gravelly sand, the afternoon sky overcast. 

Reluctantly, Draco lowered his wand, disappointed to know it had failed him yet again. Though it was more likelythat he was the one failing it. 

“Anyone hungry?” Hermione offered. She and Ron half-watched them from a plaid picnic blanket. She had been reading a book while he spun pebbles with his wand. Hermione rummaged around in her bag for cloth-wrapped sandwiches and a thermos full of what Draco hoped was tea. 

“Yes,” He said gratefully, joining them. Harry hesitated for some reason, emerald eyes narrowing at the scene, but he decided to sit with them, as well. 

“Thank you,” said Draco when Hermione poured him a cup of tea. He took a sip, inhaled its fragrance, and tears suddenly pricked his eyes as he recognized the scent. Cinnamon; his mother used to brew him some almost every night, especially around Christmas. Draco gulped it down, blinking rapidly, his throat burning, and hoped no one had noticed. 

“What memories have you been using?” Hermione inquired as she unwrapped a sandwich. 

A glance at Harry, who blushed. “Recent ones,” Draco replied, “I’m sure you can guess.” 

“I see.” Hermione smirked knowingly. “Harry, have you told Draco about our Ministry infiltration?” 

Draco raised an eyebrow. Harry stopped chewing for a moment, then swallowed, looking sheepish. “Er…hasn’t come up.” 

“Ministry infiltration?” Draco echoed, though he remembered when it happened, unfortunately. Yaxley’s tortured screams after the fact had been loud enough to reach his room. “I heard something about that. Were you planning to tell me all about it, Potter?” 

“At some point,” Harry said. “To be honest, I don’t really like talking about last year much.” 

Only the gentle lapping of waves broke the moment of silence. 

“That’s fair enough,” Hermione soothed. “None of us want to relive it.” 

“You can say that again,” Ron mumbled. 

“I was thinking,” Hermione began, turning to Harry, “Remember when we ran into those dementors? And I couldn’t get my Patronus at first?” Harry nodded. “Usually, I, you know, think of a happy memory. Something that’s already happened. 

“But then, with so many enemies on our tail, with hardly any hope to be found…The recent past seemed too-” Hermione’s voice broke, and she cleared her throat. “Too dark. Too sad.” 

Draco looked down at the autumn-colored, steaming tea in his hands. He related to Hermione, more than he wanted to admit. Draco’s seventeenth year of life had been agonizingly long, colored black with needless suffering. It felt either unendingly bleak or so short he was face-to-face with his own death; he hadn’t been able to tell which. 

“So, instead, I didn’t think of the past,” Hermione continued. “I thought of the future. I asked myself, ‘When Voldemort is gone, how bright will my life be?’ I thought about how I still needed to choose a career, something that would allow me to make a difference. I thought about seeing my parents again. I imagined myself in a house in the countryside that held all the books I could ever want. I wondered how amazing it would feel to be successful, not just because I could do good work, but because I’d settle down with someone I loved. Start a family.” She glanced at Ron, whose ears had turned bright red. “And, well…it worked. I know it’s unorthodox,” Hermione said, meeting Draco’s gaze, “But when you cast the spell, try to build your own happy, future memory. So to speak.” 

Draco set down his cup, buzzing with senses. The piquant taste of cinnamon, the rolling breeze, Harry’s eyes watching him. “Okay. I’ll try it.” 

“Now?” Harry asked as Draco stood from the blanket. “Are you sure?” 

He almost lied and said yes. “No. I have no idea if I can make it work. But it can’t hurt to try.” 

On a whim, Draco reached down and slipped off his shoes. The rough sand was a little cold, but he hardly noticed. Draco rolled up his trouser cuffs and edged into the water, which was freezing, even at this time of year. It was invigorating, the chill clenching his muscles just enough to shock. Behind him, he heard Harry’s bare footsteps, and soon he waded next to him. 

Draco took out his wand and held Harry’s hand almost on instinct. _Think,_ He commanded himself. Someday in the far future, he and Harry would be standing on a beach like this one, holding hands like they were right now. Draco’s indentured Aurorship would be over. Perhaps his forearm would be pale and unblemished again, someway, somehow. But most of all, he would be happy. _I will be happy. I_ will _be happy._

“ _Expecto Patronum._ ” 

Draco expected to feel a rush of magic, hear the whoosh of the spell, something. But nothing seemed to have happened, and Harry’s disappointed silence revealed much. 

Draco sighed, tamping down his frustration. Harry squeezed his hand reassuringly. “That was just one try. You can do this.” 

The conviction in his voice caused Draco to lift his wand once more. _It didn’t work. Why?_ Too vague, maybe? Not realistic enough, perhaps. Imagining a fantasy wouldn’t do Draco much good. Him being an Auror against his will wasn’t likely to change, so he would make the best of it. Study what interested him, work alongside Harry. The Dark Mark probably wouldn’t go away, either; it would always be writhing, just below the surface. Well, fine. _It doesn’t control me,_ Draco thought fiercely. _It’s a part of me, but I won’t be afraid of it._

At least Harry knew about the hidden brand. Draco couldn’t bear to keep any more secrets from him. Mercifully, Harry still loved him with the Mark, and the Sectumsempra scars, too. Draco’s cheeks grew warm when he remembered the night he confessed to Harry that the raised lines made him insecure, made him feel ugly sometimes. Horrified, and still guilty from what he’d inflicted, Harry had made amends in a most dramatic fashion, though Draco appreciated it nevertheless. He’d kissed every wounded inch, murmuring against his skin, _“You’re beautiful. I’m sorry. You’re beautiful. I’m sorry.”_

With Harry, Draco didn’t feel so terribly about his scars. He could imagine a future with them marking his skin. It wouldn’t matter if he still had the Dark Mark in ten years, because every morning, he would wake up someplace near Cambridge with Harry next to him. Draco would train for three years, doubtless with a Potions class or two to keep his intellect satisfied. And he’d come home, exhausted, but happy because Harry would be there, with those adorable green eyes and the smile he wore when he told Draco, _“You’re incredible.”_ And Draco knew most days would be like this, and even if they were harrowing and dreadful instead, they wouldn’t be hopeless, because Harry, his Harry, would be there, and Draco knew he’d always be there because he would protect him. They would protect each other. 

That future felt so real that Draco could almost touch it. He sensed it thrumming like a heartbeat, alive in his fingertips. 

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” 

This time, Draco knew it had worked, because Harry, Ron, and Hermione all gasped simultaneously. He opened his eyes, just in time to spot the silvery substance spiraling from his wand, along with some sort of shape. It was small, but definitely an animal, with wings, or horns, something indiscernible, but _something._ Draco’s chest rose and fell, his breath deep with surprise and effort. 

“That was it.” Harry’s voice was soft with amazement. “That was it!” He repeated, louder. “That was it, Draco, you cast a Patronus!” He threw his arms around him without permission, not that he needed it, and Draco hugged him back, face finally breaking into a wide smile. Adrenaline surged through his veins; he felt full of it, full of delirious joy, and he laughed for no reason, burying his face in Harry’s shoulder. He smelled of the wind. 

As they pulled apart, Draco leaned down, pressing his mouth to Harry’s. The kiss was filled with all the things he couldn’t say, the emotions he held in his magic, and Harry took them in gladly, lips parting, hands warm and gentle on his neck. 

They broke apart, lost in an altogether different spell, but Hermione made a sort of _eep_ noise, and they remembered they weren’t alone. Harry blushed furiously, and Draco bit his lip apologetically. “Forgot you were there,” Harry said bashfully. 

“Apparently,” Ron replied, flustered. Hermione was fanning her face. “Mate, what you do is your business, but I don’t want to hear you complain about mine and Hermione’s public displays of affection.” 

Harry raised his hands defensively. “All right. I wasn’t going to.” He turned to his boyfriend, taking his hand. “So? You think you can do it again on Monday?” 

Draco held up his wand, still marveling at the magic it had performed only moments before. “Yes,” He replied, and he wasn’t lying, not even to himself. “I know I can.”

• • •

Most Slytherins relished taking revenge more than almost anything else, even more than victory on the Quidditch field or success in the classroom. And no one took revenge more seriously than Pansy Parkinson. Draco had known that about her since they met outside the Charms classroom in first year. Some boy had pulled her hair a day prior, so Pansy took it upon herself to learn a Hair Vanishing Jinx, which she performed on him in front of her classmates, her dark eyes glinting with malice. The boy had never laid a finger on Pansy again. 

Draco knew that after he’d rejected her, Pansy would exact some kind of vengeance, though, at eighteen, she had the patience to bide her time and plan. At the beginning of the year, she acted friendly towards him, more or less, but Draco could tell it was a front. And when she’d found out about him and Harry, he feared that she’d wield the information for as long as she could to make his life hell. 

Except it hadn’t really worked. 

Hogwarts students could be ruthless in their bullying. But they got distracted much too easily, and despite the _Witch Weekly_ article, the teens paid more attention to the newest gossip. Still, not a day went by without Draco or Harry being catcalled, or tripped, or insulted, or “accidentally” hit with a flying book. So was the nature of heteronormative teenagers. Draco found he didn’t mind it nearly as much as he should have, as long as he was with Harry, and his newly minted Patronus buoyed his mood beyond caring about his peers’ opinion. 

Pansy noticed this. It infuriated her. 

The eighth years milled about outside of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, waiting for the bell to ring. Draco and his friends sat comfortably against the wall, having been there for a while. When she arrived, Pansy had taken to glaring at Draco and his blatant contentment, so he closed his eyes to avoid her gaze, twirling his wand and trying to think happy thoughts. 

“Oi!” Someone shouted, and Draco opened his eyes in time to see a crumpled ball of parchment fly and hit him in the chest. 

Ron glared after the culprits, a band of young Gryffindor boys that snickered amongst themselves as they scampered away. “Bastards,” He muttered. 

Though Draco shared his sentiment, his curiosity took over, and he smoothed out the parchment. It was a crude drawing of two stick figures engaging in genitalia-less, primitive intercourse. The top person had a forked, snake-like tongue, while the bottom had round glasses. The doodle looked so stupid that Draco snorted and tossed it to his boyfriend. 

Harry laughed derisively when he saw it. “Inaccurate” was his only comment. 

“This has got to be borderline sexual harassment or something,” Hermione tutted. She crumpled up the paper, placed it on the stone floor, and set it alight. Blue flames licked the edges, crackling merrily. 

“I’m not feeling particularly harassed,” Harry said brazenly. “You all right, Draco? 

Draco glanced out of the corner of his eye, noticing that Pansy was clearly eavesdropping. “Just fine,” He assured him, loud enough for her to hear. 

Presently, Professor Dahlia poked her head out and waved in her students. “Last day to show me your Patronus if you haven’t already,” she told them. The desks were in their usual formation, but Dahlia had pushed her own back to make a bit of room at the front. “Non-corporeal is totally fine,” She continued, eyes resting on Draco. “Do your best. Henrietta, why don’t you start?” 

Henrietta nodded, twisting her hair nervously. After almost a full minute of concentration, she cried out, “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” A silver jellyfish bobbed into the air, its long tentacles waving overhead. The class oohed and ahhed, some actually applauding, and Henrietta blushed. Pansy went next, casting an enormous serpent that bore an unfortunate resemblance to Nagini. Draco flinched when it came near, shrinking away, and Pansy noted this with a cruel smile. 

Once Gavin had cast his bull, Dahlia gestured for Draco to take his turn. He took a deep breath, ignoring Anaya’s and Pansy’s whispers, looking instead to Harry, who nodded encouragingly. Draco turned his face up towards the shafts of golden morning light that streamed through the windows, broken by the rafters. He thought of the day by the lake, and of the days after, long after, mornings that didn’t exist yet, when he would wake up so blissfully happy that he could hardly believe it. But Draco _would_ believe it because it wouldn’t be some lie he told himself to keep his sanity intact. The future he imagined would manifest into reality. He would make sure of it. 

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” 

His voice echoed strangely in the enclosed space, but - yes, there it was! - something silver bloomed from the tip, bright and substantial. He thought he could make out wings this time, but before the Patronus took shape, the light faded. 

The ensuing silence felt painfully awkward. Draco kept his expression stoic, happy that he’d succeeded, though the knowledge of inadequacy crept into his chest like suffocating vines. 

“Nice job, Draco,” Professor Dahlia said amiably. “That’s a real improvement from last time.” 

“Thank you,” Draco said stiffly, making his way back to his desk. 

“That was amazing,” Harry whispered as Draco sat down, and his smile sent warmth flowering in Draco’s chest. 

“All right, then!” Dahlia waved her wand, sliding her desk back into place. “Since we’re finishing up our Patronus lesson today, I thought it might be interesting to-” 

“You taking the piss?” Pansy interjected. 

Dahlia, annoyed at being interrupted, and shocked at her student’s attitude, asked sharply, “Excuse me?” 

“You’re just letting Draco off the hook?” Pansy protested. “He can’t even do a proper Patronus!” 

“As you may recall, Pansy,” Professor Dahlia said patiently, “I said non-corporeal Patronuses are perfectly acceptable.” 

“Yeah, but it’s not really fair,” Pansy insisted. “We all put in the work. He should have done the same.” 

Draco gritted his teeth but didn’t deign to respond. Dahlia crossed her arms, frowning. “I’m the teacher here. It’s clear to me that Draco has put in plenty of effort to improve as much as he has.” 

“Fine,” Pansy relented, wrinkling her nose petulantly. “I suppose I can’t really blame him. Poor thing’s so depressed, it’s a miracle he managed anything at all.” 

“Shut your mouth,” Harry said suddenly, and before either Dahlia or Draco could stop him, he stood up, glaring at Pansy. “Shut your _mouth,_ or I will shut it for you.” 

Pansy flushed angrily. Their classmates looked back and forth between them, intrigued by the spectacle unfolding before them. “What do you care? You know it’s true.” 

“Yeah, Draco’s been through hell and back,” Harry admitted, and Hermione inhaled sharply at his language, glancing at Professor Dahlia. The teacher’s face remained unreadable as she let him continue. “But so have the rest of us. I dare you to tell me that thinking of happy memories was a walk in the park for all of you,” He challenged, looking around at his peers. “I dare you all to tell me that last year wasn’t hard. But you can’t, can you? Not honestly. Because we’ve all been through hell and back, one way or another, and comparing how much we’ve suffered isn’t going to help a damn bit. So, don’t sit there and bleat that Draco’s not strong enough to cast a Patronus,” Harry said roughly, directing his words at Pansy, “Because that would be an insult to every bloody person who’s lived through the war. And you’d be completely wrong.” 

“That’s enough, Harry,” Dahlia said softly. Harry sat down hard, chest heaving, and fists balled. Draco tensed when he did so; he’d completely forgotten how much of a temper Harry could have. Righteous anger rolled off him in waves, and Draco counted himself lucky not to be on the receiving end of it. Pansy wasn’t crying - he’d seen her cry only once -, but she had her head bowed in embarrassment, her arms folded tightly. 

“I understand that people have their fights and disagreements,” Professor Dahlia said evenly, “But it would suit mature students such as yourself to deal with them outside of time designated for learning. Ten points each from Gryffindor and Slytherin. I’ll see you both after class.” 

“Yes, Professor,” came the overlapping voices. 

“Mhm. As I was saying…” 

At the end of class, Draco reluctantly left his boyfriend in the classroom, following Ron and Hermione to the hallway. The couple exchanged a look he could not read. “Draco…is it all right if we leave you alone? To wait for Harry?” Hermione asked. 

Draco’s heart sank. They didn’t like him as much as he thought they did. “Yes. That’s fine.” 

The disappointment in his voice must have been obvious, because Hermione briefly rested a hand on his shoulder. Draco tensed at the unfamiliar touch, but it wasn’t malicious, rather a gesture of reassurance. “It’s not because of you, I promise. I know myself; I’d definitely scold Harry when he got out, and he probably wouldn’t appreciate that much.” 

“Or you could just,” Ron suggested, “Not do that.” 

Hermione shrugged unapologetically. “It _was_ sort of rude of him to talk over Professor Dahlia. Though I agreed with what he said, of course. Regardless, I think Harry wouldn’t mind time alone with you after that little outburst,” She told Draco meaningfully. 

Hermione’s explanation seemed too nuanced to be an excuse to leave him. “All right.” 

“See you in a bit.” Ron waved goodbye, and Draco returned the action, still slightly thrown that, after all this time, he was properly friends with a Weasley. 

The students in the corridor were too focused on getting to class or the library to notice Draco, thankfully. He prided himself on his ability to blend into the background or stand out, depending on the situation. 

Pansy came out soon enough, shooting Draco a dirty look as she let the door fall back on Harry, who was close behind. Harry glared at her retreating figure but shout after her. 

“What’d Professor Dahlia say?” Draco asked. 

“The usual. ‘Don’t talk when the teacher’s talking,’ and all that. But she said I was right,” Harry added, “That people shouldn’t compare sufferings. You should’ve seen the look on Parkinson’s face.” 

“I’d pay to see that,” Draco admitted. 

Harry’s smile faded slightly. He threaded his fingers through Draco’s as they walked along the corridor. “Sorry if I embarrassed you.” 

Draco chuckled. “It was a tad overdramatic. But you meant well. I think next time,” He added, “I can stand up for myself.” 

Harry nodded firmly. “Got it.” 

Draco pressed a light kiss to his temple. A few students walking nearby stared at them obnoxiously, but one hit of the trademark Malfoy glare and they quickly looked away. Draco smirked at their reaction, and asked, “I think Ron and Hermione went to the library. Want to join them, darling?” 

“Sure,” Harry replied, then, “‘Darling?’” 

“I’m trying something out,” Draco said with a shrug. “It’s occurred to me that it’s a bit strange to call my boyfriend by his last name all the time. 

“Took you long enough to figure that out, Malfoy,” Harry teased. “Does this mean I can call you…honey bunny, for example?” 

“Not unless you want to watch me pitch myself off the Astronomy Tower,” Draco replied dryly. 

Harry laughed, pure and simple, and it made Draco smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm delving into Draco's perspective more and more often, as though the story is becoming both his and Harry's - which it is, I suppose. They're still very different characters, but as they become more involved in each other's lives, the story's perspective shifts. Look forward to more of that later!


	46. Dahlia

“Everyone doing okay?” 

Harry looked up from the form he was filling out. Professor Dahlia leaned over the little group of Gryffindors, who were completing applications and writing letters. 

“Yes, thank you,” Hermione replied, hardly glancing up as she scribbled a paragraph about her strengths and weaknesses. 

“Um, Professor Dahlia?” Ginny raised her quill. “This isn’t a final draft, right?” 

“It’s only practice,” Dahlia reassured her. “I’m guessing you want to mention your undefeated season?” 

“Hopefully,” Ginny said with a grin. 

“You can delay sending your letter. Only to the first week of June, though, that’s what I’d recommend.” 

“Got it. Thanks, Professor.” 

“You three need to be punctual,” Professor Dahlia told Harry, Ron, and Hermione sternly. “The Ministry takes applications only until midnight on the first. No later.” 

“Yes, Professor Dahlia,” They chorused. 

“Mention that to Draco, will you, Harry? I’m not sure Horace will remember to tell him.” 

“I will.” 

Dahlia nodded and drifted away. Ginny hummed happily as she put the finishing touches on her letter. “Hermione, could you look over this for me, please?” 

“In a minute.” Hermione scrawled a conclusion, then tossed her thick hair out of her face. “All right, give it here.” 

“Thank you, future sister-in-law,” Ginny cooed. Hermione rolled her eyes and bit back a smile. 

Ron sighed, leaning so far forward that his forehead rested on the desk. “This is an awful lot of writing for one day,” He remarked, voice muffled. “I’ll finish it later.” 

“Me too.” Harry flexed his fingers against the tabletop, wincing as he stretched out a cramp. “My hand hurts.” 

“You poor thing,” Ginny teased. “That the excuse you’re planning to use if Cass catches the Snitch before you do? ‘Oh, Ginny, my hand hurts from writing, I couldn’t get a proper grip,’” She moaned, flopping her limp arm onto the table. Ron laughed, and Hermione’s mouth twitched, but she remained focused on proofreading. 

“Ha, ha.” Harry held back his genuine laughter and set down his quill. “Just because I’m not applying for the Holyhead Harpies doesn’t mean I don’t want the Cup as much as you do.” 

“I know, I was just messing around.” 

Massaging his palm, Harry leaned back in his chair. He wasn’t terribly worried about getting into Cambridge, even if he should’ve been. He _was_ the Chosen One, after all, and he was doing much better in class than merely scraping by. Harry worried about Draco; what if the Ministry decided not to accept him after all and had only given him hope to snatch it away at the last moment? 

That did sound like something they would do. 

As Harry’s thoughts wandered, so did his eyes, coming to rest on Professor Dahlia, who had returned to her desk. She was his favorite teacher this year, unsurprisingly, with her easygoing attitude and focus on practical magic. But something was off about her, too, like the way she was perpetually sending or writing letters, and seemed inexplicably sad some days, and tried desperately to hide it. _In any case, it’s not my business,_ Harry told himself firmly. 

Dahlia took out a stack of mail and began to sort through it. One of the envelopes caught Harry’s eye as it slid out. An involuntary shock trembled down his spine as he recognized the color - ruby red, like fresh blood. The shade was unmistakable. 

_It’s just a coincidence,_ Harry told himself as his heartbeat rushed in his ears. _Red’s a common color. Maybe it’s a Howler._ Professor Dahlia’s reaction seemed to match; she slid it out of the pile, hands trembling, apprehension in her eyes. But instead of opening it, she placed it resolutely out of sight, in a drawer somewhere. Not a Howler, then, or else her desk would catch on fire. 

Harry controlled his breathing. He was overreacting. Why would Dahlia be in contact with the Following? If that’s who the envelope was from, which, again, seemed like a coincidence. But she _was_ Thai like they were… _Don’t make racist assumptions,_ a small voice in Harry’s head scolded. _It could still mean something,_ he shot back. 

Busy arguing with himself, Harry didn’t notice when the bell rang, and Ginny had to tug at his sleeve. “You all right, Harry? You look like you’re going to be sick.” 

Harry shook his head. “I mean…yes, I’m all right. Not going to be sick.” He took a deep breath. “Maybe I should go outside for a bit, though.” 

“I’ve got class, but you go do that,” Ginny said. “See you all later.” She shot Harry a concerned look before leaving. 

Ron reached down and tousled Harry’s hair in the brotherly way he sometimes did. “What’s the matter, mate? Worried about applications?” 

“Er…oh, damn.” Harry stopped in the middle of the corridor and clapped a hand to his forehead. “Left mine in class.” 

“I might have picked it up,” Hermione muttered, peering into her bag. “Ah…no, never mind.” 

“You two go ahead, I’ll catch up,” Harry called over his shoulder; he was already jogging back. He skidded to a halt in front of the door, gave a cursory knock, and cracked it open. “Sorry, professor, I left my…” 

He stopped when he saw her. A torn, red envelope laid near Dahlia’s clenched hands. Tears streamed silently down her face as she read the letter, hardly a foot long. When she noticed Harry, Dahlia gasped, moving as if to hide it, but she recognized it was too late. “Harry…” She started. 

“I just left my paper,” Harry said, pointing. Feeling awkward, he rushed to his desk, grabbed the application, and turned to leave. 

“Harry.” Professor Dahlia’s voice was steadier now, and she brusquely wiped the dampness from her face. “I must ask you not to mention this to anyone.” 

Alarm bells went off in Harry’s head, but he remained calm. “Yes, Professor.” 

“My…” She stopped, cleared her throat. “My closest friend… she’s chosen a path worse than death.” 

The way Dahlia said “friend” made Harry wonder if the relationship meant more than that. Still having no idea what was going on, but sympathetic, he said, “I’m sorry.” 

“Keep your friends close, Harry,” She told him. “Don’t ever let them stray.” She sounded so like Dumbledore that Harry suddenly felt a lump form in his throat as if he too was on the verge of tears. 

“Yes, Professor.” 

“Promise me.” 

“I promise.” 

Harry couldn’t help but feel, as he softly closed the classroom door, that he was promising much more than he thought. Only the passage of time would reveal if his suspicion was correct. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter that may seem out of place now, but may play a pivotal role much later...


	47. Ash Spun to Silk

The second of May dawned with a furious rainstorm. Drops began to lash at the windows around two in the morning, crackles of thunder rustling students from their beds. Only those beneath the lake had peace and quiet, the noise of the storm muffled by the mass of water. 

Harry woke late, about an hour before lunch. He dressed in Muggle clothes, moving through his morning routine without thinking, and it wasn’t until he entered the Slytherin common room and saw his friends’ stony faces that he remembered today’s date. 

“Afternoon, Harry,” said Luna. Harry was surprised to see her, both in the dungeons and without her girlfriend. She held out a small, twisted circle of plants, made of heather, reeds, and some sort of stem with soft, green leaves. “Wear this.” 

“Oh - thanks.” Harry took the bracelet and slipped it onto his wrist. Ron, Hermione, and Draco were all wearing one, though Draco looked less than thrilled about it. Luna was wearing five on either wrist and her hair was adorned with a few, which appeared accidental. “What are these for?” 

“Mourning rings,” Luna replied gravely. “Calms the spirit in times of grief.” 

“Thank you,” Harry said, touched. He brushed the leaves curiously; his spirit didn’t feel calmer, exactly, but it wasn’t in turmoil. 

“Now that you’re here, let’s get lunch,” Ron suggested suddenly, standing from the sofa. He smiled casually, but Harry could tell that it was forced. His blue eyes were unnaturally bright with the sheen of held-back tears. Harry knew he must have been remembering, too: the spell-shot mayhem, the smoking wreckage. Young, ashy faces staring lifelessly from the dust. 

Hermione took her boyfriend’s hand and squeezed it. She knew exactly how he felt. 

Draco’s expression was carefully blank as the group walked to the dining hall. Harry could only guess how he was feeling; only a year prior, Draco had been on the side of murderers, destroyers, people who had stopped at nothing to strike down the students of Hogwarts. All that was over now, but Draco would still have the memories: tearing through the castle, trusting no one, fighting a battle he’d never wanted to be a part of. 

“Hi,” Ollie nodded to his friends as they joined him and Owen at the Hufflepuff table. 

“Hey. Where’s Erin?” Harry asked. 

“Picking a bouquet for the vigil,” Ollie replied. “One of our close friends died during the battle.” His face darkened, and Owen patted his shoulder comfortingly. 

“Raina’s in a better place now,” He said gently. “We’ll see her again.” 

“I hope that’s true,” Ollie murmured. 

“I’m going to find Ginny,” Luna announced. “Harry, Draco, I’ll come for you after lunch. I want to show you something.” 

“Okay. See you later,” Harry replied, and she drifted off. “So…there’s a vigil?” 

“One of these days, Harry, you’ll check the bulletin, and everything will stop being news to you,” Hermione sighed. “Pass the smashed peas, please.” 

Lunch was eaten in near silence, but there wasn’t much to say. No one felt like speaking, each painfully aware of the empty spaces where their friends used to be. Her hair damp, Erin joined them about halfway through, holding a dewy bunch of daffodils tied with a black ribbon. Oliver handed her a bowl of soup, and no one said a word when she began to weep, futilely wiping at the silent tears streaming down her cheeks. 

Two gentle hands landed on Harry’s and Draco’s shoulders soon enough. “Let’s go,” came Luna’s soft voice, and they followed. 

The rain outside had slowed to a drizzle. Harry wavered at the threshold, realizing he didn’t have a cloak. 

“Always come prepared, Potter,” Draco scolded, his voice holding no real anger. “Here.” He miraculously pulled two cloaks from his satchel and handed Harry one. 

“Thank you.” Harry cast a Water Repelling charm on it, then asked Luna, “Do you need anything?” 

“No.” Luna, barefoot and clad in a floaty, purple sundress, stepped out from the shelter of the eaves, her silver eyes looking dreamily to the cloudy heavens. “I like rain.” 

The three of them picked their way down the slope, Luna leading, her silhouette outlined by a misty halo. The grass was slippery, and Harry nearly fell a couple of times, but Draco grabbed him before he sent them all sliding down the hill. Hagrid’s hut, empty and smokeless, stood as a forlorn figure at the edge of the forest. Unkempt pumpkin vines grew wild over the roof, a few ends nudging at the windows. Harry and Draco removed their cloak hoods as they entered the Forbidden Forest, the thickly grown trees providing enough cover from the drops. 

Luna walked silently ahead, opening the bag hanging at her waist. Harry caught the scent of raw meat, pungent, and gamey. 

Draco frowned as they entered a clearing, the same one in which he’d been attacked by Buckbeak all those years ago. “What are we…?” 

“Shh.” Harry rested a hand on his arm to stop him, and they both came to a standstill. Luna continued forward, palming a chunk of bloody meat. She hummed, soft and slow, and Harry recognized the tune. 

Several dark shapes rustled in the bushes. Draco stiffened in apprehension. “Thestrals?” He whispered, and Harry nodded. 

Three black, four-legged creatures, their leathery skin stretched thin over their skeletons, stepped forward into the clearing. The biggest one clicked its beak-like mouth expectantly, and Luna threw the meat towards it. The beast caught it smoothly, sharp teeth tearing into the flesh. Draco gave a little noise of alarm, but Luna was unafraid. The other two thestrals flapped their wings impatiently, and Luna tossed them pieces, too. 

“Come closer,” She said, turning to the two boys. “They won’t bite, so long as you don’t put your hands near their mouths.” 

“Who would have known,” Draco muttered. He seemed hesitant to approach, but Harry rested a hand on the small of his back, guiding him forward. 

“Here.” Luna held out her bag to them. Draco made a face, reluctant to touch raw meat, but he gamely took a piece and threw it. The nearest thestral snapped it out of the air and chewed viciously. Draco shrieked and took a few hurried steps back. 

“I thought you liked animals?” Harry teased as he tossed a chunk of meat. 

“I’m not terribly fond of the ones that might kill me, if you must know,” Draco replied, shuddering. 

“They should be here soon,” Luna murmured, squinting into the shadows. She whistled, low and steady. “Come on, little one. Bring your mama.” 

Two other thestrals slowly ambled into the clearing. One of them was just a baby, wobbly on its spindly legs. The other was also unsteady, clearly limping as her offspring nudged her forward. Harry inhaled sharply as the thestral’s hind legs came into view. The left one was severely injured, a gash running diagonally through her flesh. Dark blood oozed thick and shiny from it; the wound couldn’t have been more than a week old. 

“What happened?” Draco asked. 

“Don’t know. Something probably bit her, look,” Luna indicated with her hand. The edges of the cut were ragged as if torn with teeth. “A wolf, maybe. There are a lot of dangerous things in here.” 

“Both human and animal,” Harry agreed quietly. 

“Yes.” Luna turned to Draco. “Can you help her?” 

“Me?” Draco frowned. “What about the Care of Magical Creatures professor?” 

“She’s been on leave for a couple of weeks - Acromantula bite. I didn’t know who else to go to,” Luna confessed, wringing her hands worriedly. “Madam Pomfrey doesn’t work with animals, usually. And she won’t go near thestrals. You’re good at healing all kinds of living beings, aren’t you?” 

“You are?” Harry asked his boyfriend, puzzled. 

“I suppose.” Draco reached into his robes for his wand. “We had a lot of Dark creatures on our - on the Death Eater side. They didn’t let me on the front lines often, so I did a lot of healing. I don’t know if I’m better than the average wizard, though.” 

“It wouldn’t hurt to try,” said Harry. 

Draco nodded. “Hold her steady,” he told Luna. 

Luna carefully reached forward, patting the thestral’s flank as the beast skittered nervously. “It’s okay,” She soothed, rubbing her hand over its leathery hide. “He’s going to help.” 

Draco took a deep breath, then began to chant in Latin, repeating a phrase as he passed his wand over the wound. “ _Sanguine et ossibus, se reuniret. Sanguine et ossibus, se reuniret._ ” Slowly, the flesh and skin began to knit together, blood flowing back into the body, the gash closing. After a minute or so of chanting, the thestral’s wound had wholly vanished, and Draco withdrew his wand. 

Luna beamed. “You did it!” The baby thestral burbled happily, its mother bending down to nudge noses. “Thank you, Draco.” 

“You’re welcome…” Draco swayed on the spot, eyelids fluttering. He stumbled, and Harry caught him, trying to keep him upright. 

“Is he all right?” Luna said worriedly, rushing forward to help. “He should sit down.” 

“Yeah.” Harry half-carried Draco to a nearby tree, letting him slump against it. Harry pressed a hand to his forehead - he was cold and clammy. “Draco?” 

Draco blearily blinked awake. “Oh - sorry. That much healing magic is taxing. I would have rather done it with potions.” He sighed, letting his head rest against the bark. 

“I’m sorry,” Luna said, kneeling next to him. 

“No, no…it’s fine. It’s just been a while since I’ve performed a spell like that. I’ll be all right in a minute.” 

The other two waited for Draco to catch his breath. Overhead, the drizzle continued, a few drops running through the leaves and dripping onto their heads. The thestrals waited around for a bit, then retreated back into the dark forest. 

“Ready.” Draco struggled to his feet, leaning against the tree. 

“Hey, careful.” Harry held him steady, then linked their arms. “Hold on to me.” 

“I can walk by myself, Potter,” Draco grumbled, but he didn’t pull away. “I’m only letting you help me because you’re so cute.” 

Harry grinned. “Fine by me.” 

“Onward we go, then,” Luna said gaily, skipping ahead of them. 

As they emerged from the forest, a bit of sunshine nudged its way through the blanket of clouds. The rain didn’t slow, so Draco and Harry pulled up their hoods again. The light turned the drops golden, making the dewy grass sparkle, and at certain angles, Harry could see hints of a rainbow in the atmosphere. 

Luna began to sing as they trudged up the hill. “ _Bend like the willows, my dear, my dear, sift through the clouds, my dear, my dear…Send me a letter, tied with a feather, before you go over the mountains, my dear._ ” 

The tune followed a loosely structured pattern, but all in all, Luna seemed to be making it up as she went along, adding verses about cliffside waterfalls, heather-covered hills, steamy jungles, and forest floors covered in ferns. Her sweet voice was carried by a breeze, echoing off the castle walls. The song seemed to last forever, or a moment, Harry couldn’t tell which, and before he knew it, Luna had stopped, and they were standing at the entry. 

“Where’d you learn that?” Draco asked, who looked as dazed as Harry felt. 

“I don’t know,” Luna said thoughtfully. “I think I’ve heard it before…from my mother, maybe? It’s blurry.” She picked up the hem of her dress and wrung it out, spattering the cobblestones with water. “Oh, dear. I should change; I don’t think waterlog-chic is appropriate for a candlelit vigil.”

• • •

A river of black robes ran from Hogwarts castle to the Black Lake. The students walked in one enormous, slow-moving mass, their faces downcast. Houses were made irrelevant on this day. Every one of them knew someone who had died a year prior. Every one of them felt each other’s pain. Friends and couples alike held hands, leaning on each other, putting arms around shoulders. Suspended above each of their heads was a candle, its enchanted, golden flame unwavering in the wind. 

Some students held bunches of flowers, a paper lantern, and a glossy, moving photograph. Ron had one depicting Fred’s grinning, carefree face; Draco held Crabbe’s photo. Erin clutched a picture of a girl Harry did not recognize, with strawberry-blonde curls, a round face, and an infectious smile; Ollie and Owen occasionally glanced at her, forlornly. 

Harry walked surrounded by his friends, the candlelight dimly illuminating their faces. Gravel crunched beneath their feet as they reached the shore; boats upon boats were docked there, ready to push off. Hermione clambered in first, helping in Harry, Draco, Ron, and Henrietta. The vessels filled quickly and cast off automatically, heading for the deeper parts of the Black Lake. 

Hundreds of candles cast a glow over the surface, and Harry thought he spotted flashes of mermaid scales, and once, the massive, scarlet form of the giant squid. The boats floated in a crowded semicircle around the largest one, where Headmistress McGonagall and the four house heads stood, all dressed in black. Despite not being present for the battle, Professor Dahlia looked as solemn as the others, bowing her head as the students gathered. 

McGonagall touched her wand to her throat. “Children of Hogwarts.” Her amplified voice swept over the crowd, and all whispers ceased. “On this day, a year ago, our castle’s walls were breached by Lord Voldemort and his followers.” 

Draco, standing next to Harry, stiffened. Harry held out his hand; Draco took it gratefully. 

“Our friends, family, and classmates fought hard against the invasion. Many sacrifices were made, and eventually, Voldemort and his army were vanquished. Tonight, we remember the brave warriors who fought for their families, their friends, their lives. We remember those who perished in battle. 

“It was not their turn to die.” McGonagall’s voice broke, and Harry felt a lump form in his throat. “Our children may have been of age, but they were taken too soon - not by fate, but by death, unjust and merciless. We cannot forget our brave friends. We _will_ not forget. Tonight, a year later, we honor their memory. We honor their sacrifice. And we remind ourselves that because of them, we live on. We hold fast to life, to love, to hope. 

“We, the survivors, must never give up on hope. Those who died clung to it with their very last breath.” 

That old leaden feeling of guilt had risen in Harry’s chest. _You could have saved them,_ a voice inside him whispered. _But I did everything I could._

“Hogwarts, we cannot be foolish,” McGonagall continued. “Our friends’ memories will live on forever. But do not dwell on their deaths. Do not think that it’s your fault, that with another step, another spell, you could have saved them.” Her glasses flashed in the firelight, head turning slightly in Harry’s direction, and he had the eerie feeling that she’d read his mind. “To do so would dishonor them. Think of the life they lived, the precious moments you spent with them. Hold them close to your heart.” 

McGonagall reached down, picked up a scroll of parchment, and unraveled it. “The poem I will recite was written by a half-blood, the Ravenclaw daughter of a pureblood Slytherin and a Muggleborn Hufflepuff. She lived between worlds, rich and poor, magical and Muggle. She fought in the First Wizarding War even as her family was torn asunder by Voldemort. I’m sure many of you have known that kind of pain.” She looked around at the students, and Harry was sure her gaze rested on Draco for a moment. McGonagall cleared her throat and began to read aloud.

**Life withers and love crumbles**

**Metropolis, jungle alike**

**Like sunshine, temporary**

**In its merciless cycle**

**And yet I linger on**

**With no hand to hold**

**And no heart to bear**

**Exist to survive**

**Time ticks on and on and on**

**Love crumbles and peace lasts not**

**Inferno rages through home and frontier**

**Child’s eyes wrinkle**

**Squint to miss the wells of blood**

**Innocent hide and innocence remain**

**Spare me the sermon**

**And linger on**

McGonagall paused, letting her voice ring gravely across the lake. The students shifted uneasily; the poem seemed awfully bleak. But the headmistress cleared her throat and read the last two verses.

**When the smoke clears**

**Look to the sky**

**Breathe the soot from your lungs**

**Bring me not flowers but dawns**

**Lend me your dusk**

**Twilight fading in its merciful cycle**

**Linger on**

**Until our bones fall to ash**

**And ash spun to silk**

The scroll snapped closed with a bright sort of finality. Murmurs rolled through the crowd, mulling over the words. 

“Puts a bit of a damper on things, doesn’t it?” Ron remarked quietly. 

“I think it’s realistic,” Hermione said reasonably. “We’ve been through a lot; there’s no use in denying it. But in the end, we have each other. We do our best with what we’ve been left with.” She looked up at the candles floating above their heads. “‘Ash spun to silk.’” 

A fog, remnants of the day’s rain, began to roll across the surface of the lake. It wisped into the boats, making everyone appear as if they were floating. At the head boat, McGonagall retrieved items from within her flowing robes: a paper lantern, a wreath of yellow flowers, and a photograph of someone that Harry thought must be Dumbledore. McGonagall reached up and grasped a candle. She lit the lantern, its flame’s light ballooning within the thin paper, and affixed the photo to a clip inside. McGonagall placed the wreath on the water, then the lantern, and with her wand, caused both objects to float as one entity. 

All around the lake, students followed her example. Hermione helped Ron with Fred’s picture and Harry with Draco’s photo of Crabbe. Henrietta leaned over the edge and attached flowers to both. Pinpricks of light pierced the fog, glowing between the boats, and the lake’s surface grew bright and shimmery as fifty lanterns were set upon it. McGonagall made a large sweeping motion with her wand, and they all began to drift away, lighting up the darkness beyond. 

As they watched the lanterns fade into the night, Harry felt the tight knot within his chest unravel. The guilt, the regret, all flowed out of his eyes without him being able to stop it. The pause they’d taken from the bustle of life, to remember the dead, had finally melted something within him, a coldness in his heart that he hadn’t even realized was there. 

He couldn’t stop himself from crying, so he didn’t even try. 

Henrietta knelt in the boat, her head in her arms as she solemnly watched the lights float away, her cheeks wet. Ron and Hermione held hands, leaning against each other for support. 

Draco’s face was dry, but Harry could feel him shaking when Draco gathered him in his arms. Harry was couldn’t even be embarrassed as he wept into Draco’s shoulder; he was somehow relieved to let it all out. Hands gripped his shoulders with a firm comfort. Draco’s lips moved almost soundlessly, telling him, it’s okay, I’m here, Harry, you’re safe now. 

When the candlelit lanterns disappeared, the stars came out, glimmering warmly above the fog. Eyes cast to the heavens, hearts full, hands supporting, the students of Hogwarts found peace in one another for the first time in a year. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An instance of closure for Harry and company. One of the most challenging chapters to write, as I've personally never felt loss that significant, but fun to write nevertheless. 
> 
> I'd like to mention that I have a public, sort of impersonal Instagram account, @eyes.like.emeralds where I mostly sh*tpost about stuff I like, but I also post WTSC updates on my story as soon as I publish new chapters, so follow me if you'd like! (c. October 2020)


	48. Golden Boy

Seven red and seven blue figures floated at opposite ends of a green field that looked like velvet from above. The sky bellowed blue with wind and victory; each team could taste it. Cassandra Cheung gripped her broom, muscles tensing, knowing that it’d take a miracle to win. Ginny Weasley seemed almost relaxed on hers, but those close to her recognized the determined spark in her eyes. 

Two bright-haired students, wearing light robes appropriate for summer, and nervous expressions, sat with two others, whose faces were striped in red paint. 

“Who are you cheering for?” asked Draco. 

Luna waved her flags, red and blue each, with gusto. “Both teams! Whichever way the game goes, I’ll be happy.” 

“What an interesting approach.” 

Harry didn’t hear their conversation, but he knew his friends were down in the bleachers, watching him, ready to cheer him on. Most of his mind was focused on the match ahead, but he couldn’t help but feel grateful that they could be here on one of the most momentous and final days of his adolescence. His last game of school Quidditch. His last chance to continue to prove that he was more than the Boy Who Lived. 

The blow of the whistle pierced as sharp as a knife, and the players were off, Chasers scattering for the Quaffle, Beaters spreading out and brandishing their bats. Cass and Harry shot to the side, scouring the pitch for their quarry. 

“Come on…” Draco was sure he’d seen the Snitch fluttering somewhere around the Ravenclaw side, and he silently willed Harry to drift that way, on the edge of his seat as he watched him fly. 

A flash of black past his shoulder. Harry ducked and rolled, narrowly avoiding the Bludger. A sickening thump and frustrated grunt a few feet away told him a Ravenclaw Chaser had been hit instead. A few minutes later, a bell clang echoed across the field, and a moment later, so did an amplified voice, “Ravenclaw scores first, making it ten-zero!” 

“Oh my, that was a pretty goal,” Luna sighed, flapping her blue flag above her head. “Go, Ravenclaw!” 

Harry tried not to panic. Gryffindor had plenty of room; as long as he got the Snitch first, they should win. He rose above the field, trying to get a better view, and watched as Ginny, Willow, and Danny approached the goal in perfect formation, dodging and weaving around their opponents, tossing the Quaffle with terrifying skill. Another clang echoed, and Harry let out a cheer before diving down to search the ground. 

Yes, there it was, sneakily spiraling up the Ravenclaw goalpost. It would be hard for Harry to safely get to it, especially since Gryffindor was going more on the offensive. Draco clapped politely when his boyfriend’s team scored, ignoring the dirty looks he got from other Slytherins, who were there simply to heckle. “Forward, Potter,” He muttered, knowing Harry wouldn’t hear him, but miraculously, his broom dipped in the right direction. 

Cassandra flew on the far side of the pitch, so Harry counted himself extremely lucky when he saw the Snitch, dancing around one of Ravenclaw’s goal hoops. The Keeper had spotted it as well and glared at Harry as he came closer. The Chasers were rapidly approaching, so Harry dived down, keeping his eye on the glint of gold as Ginny heaved the Quaffle and scored. 

“Yes, Ginny!” Ron whooped, and Luna cheered as she waved her red flag. The May sun beat down on the field, sweat glistening on the players’ faces as they wove around each other in the air. The glint of the Golden Snitch was more obvious than ever, and Draco saw the Ravenclaw Seeker perk up and zoom towards it. 

Sunlight sparkled for the briefest moment on the Snitch, and as the Chasers moved away, Harry dove, wind whistling in his ears as he pursued his target. The ball began to zigzag widely, near the ground, and Harry followed its path, the Nimbus beneath him twisting back and forth as the Snitch sped towards the middle. 

Excitement seized Draco and many of the other spectators as Harry raced after the Snitch. As Cass dipped from the other side, Draco shouted, “Go, Potter! Come on, faster!” His cries were echoed by the red-clad students, jumping to their feet. 

He saw her now, barreling towards him, arm outstretched. But Harry was closer; he would make it. He had to. 

Ginny, ever the diligent Chaser, continued trying to score, keeping her opponents engaged, but everyone’s attention was on the two Seekers. Hermione gasped; they looked to be on a collision course. 

The Golden Snitch was inches away. 

Cassandra Cheung didn’t hesitate. 

Harry felt his fingers close around it. 

The crowd shouted as two bodies crashed into each other, tumbling towards the grass. 

Bruising pain enveloped his limbs and body as Harry rolled off his broom, his right hand clutching something for dear life. Cass inhaled sharply as they scrambled apart and to their feet; she was limping. Harry opened his hand, and the Snitch fluttered cheerfully. 

“Harry Potter has caught the Snitch! Final score: one hundred seventy to ten! Gryffindor has won it all!” 

Cass cursed in frustration. The roar of the crowd grew louder as they surged onto the field, clambering down the bleachers to congratulate their friends. Ginny’s excited shouts pierced above the din: “We did it! We won, we won!” There was a burst of gold and scarlet as the Gryffindor team dismounted, rushing towards Harry, hugging him, thumping his back, ruffling his sweaty hair with gloved hands. Harry smiled uncontrollably, the thrill of well-earned victory sweeping through him from head to toe. Madam Hooch grandly handed the shining, golden Quidditch Cup to Ginny, who held it triumphantly above their heads. 

“Behold, the fruits of your labor!” She cried, eyes wild with happiness. “This was thanks to all your hard work, everyone! Savor it!” 

The team cheered in one united, joyful bundle. As their shouts died down, Ginny let Quinn Winters hold the trophy while she tackled Harry with a hug. “How does it feel to be a champion, Harry?” 

“Amazing,” Harry replied, grinning. 

Ginny gave him a swift, friendly kiss on the cheek, then bounded away, saying, “I’ve got to find Luna!” 

Harry didn’t have to search very hard for his friends; Ron and Hermione sprinted towards him, flushed and beaming. Hermione kissed him as well, and Ron tousled his hair roughly, like a brother, saying, “That was a hell of a chase, Harry!” 

Someone dressed in light gray robes appeared before them. Draco’s silver eyes sparkled, hair gleaming in the sunlight as he brushed it aside. “Good game, Potter,” he said, polished voice cutting through the noise of the crowd. Heart still alive with the game, Harry reached for him and pulled him close. 

Their lips met almost on accident, and Draco’s were immobile with surprise, at first, but he soon gave in, uncaring of the eyes around them. Harry’s hand rested firmly on Draco’s waist, the other drifting to his face, gently holding him as he would a fragile treasure. 

When they broke apart, pure bliss seemed to block out the crowd, and for a moment, the entire universe was in their hands. Draco reached up and adjusted Harry’s glasses. “I love you,” he sighed. 

“I love you, too.” 

A sudden silence had fallen over their part of the field. The students closest to them stared, some shocked, a few indifferent, others mildly disgusted. Harry felt Draco tense, but he didn’t step away, only leaned closer, glaring around as if challenging anyone to object. 

Ginny’s voice, shouting over the crowd, distracted them: “Party at Gryffindor Tower!” She caught Harry’s eye and winked. “Yay, party!” Luna echoed, pinwheeling across the grass, a flag in each hand. The students perked up and began to follow them, abuzz once more with excited chatter. 

Their peers’ attention effectively caught, Draco and Harry relaxed in each other’s arms. “You’re filthy,” Draco remarked, brushing at a stripe of dirt on Harry’s jaw. 

“Yeah, I might’ve just played a Quidditch match or something,” he teased, and Draco smirked. 

“Hey, I think we’re going to the party,” Ron interjected, he and Hermione standing a few feet away. “You coming?” 

“Er…” Harry glanced at Draco, read him perfectly, and replied, “Maybe later.” 

“All right, see you then,” Hermione said, and the pair set off across the grass. 

“You seriously need to take a shower before you go anywhere,” Draco said critically, though he didn’t move away. “Don’t wash your hair, though.”

“Why?”

Draco interlaced his fingers with Harry’s. “You’ll see. Come with me.”

The Slytherin common room was empty when they entered, the students apparently having abandoned their studies for the afterparty, despite it being thrown by Gryffindor. Afternoon sunlight painted pale green stripes in the Black Lake, seaweed waving slowly by the window. As they walked, Draco’s demeanor seemed to change; the brightness he’d greeted Harry with had faded, replaced by a more solemn expression. Harry couldn’t help but notice it, but he didn’t say anything, hoping it meant nothing serious. 

As Harry showered, Draco lay flat on his back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His mind moving a mile a minute with the words he wanted so desperately to say, he closed his eyes, listening to the water running. 

Steam billowed from the bathroom when Harry exited, a towel wrapped around his waist. Draco tried not to stare at his sunkissed arms and torso sculpted by hours and hours of Quidditch practice. He averted his eyes as Harry slipped on a T-shirt and jeans - the simplest of Muggle clothes, yet he still looked as fit as ever. It wasn’t fair. 

“So…why didn’t you want me to wash my hair?” Harry asked, patting his damp head. 

“Because I’m going to wash it for you.” Draco stood, slipped off his outer robes, and rolled up his sleeves. “Come on.” 

Wearing a slightly puzzled expression, Harry let Draco guide him to a chair in front of the sink. “Close your eyes.” Harry obeyed, and Draco turned on the faucet, spilling water into his hair before reaching for shampoo. It was the same kind he used himself, almost identical to the bottle his mother had sent him the first week of Hogwarts. 

“You don’t trust me to do it myself?” Harry asked teasingly. Draco waited a moment before answering, focusing on pouring a dollop into his palm. 

“My mother used to wash my hair every night when I was little,” He said softly, and Harry fell silent, listening. “She didn’t tell me that she loved me very often. Not in so many words. But this routine was her way of caring for me, telling me that she’d always be there for me.” Draco gently washed at Harry’s roots, then worked his way to the ends, noticing how long his hair was when it was wet. 

Harry understood what Draco was telling him. He felt it in his touch, fingers threading through the locks, careful with the tangles. Draco cupped his hands, pouring warm water to wash the suds out. 

“There.” The water shut off, the last of it trickling into the drain. 

Harry opened his eyes; without his glasses, he couldn’t see Draco’s face clearly but sensed that he was looking at him. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” Draco handed him a towel and his glasses, and Harry slid them on as he dried his hair. “Potter…” Draco’s brow furrowed, and he leaned against the sink, crossing his arms in thought. Harry waited for him to continue. 

“I liked watching you out there today. You played well. But,” Draco continued before Harry could thank him, “It made me realize something.” Restless, he uncrossed his arms, placing them on the sink instead, fingers gripping the edge. “The people at Hogwarts - and probably Britain - still see you as their idol. The Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived. That _Witch Weekly_ article hasn’t changed many minds. You saw the crowd. They loved you. 

“So, I realized…” Draco’s voice seemed to stop working. He looked at the ground, then cleared his throat. “If they haven’t stopped loving you, they haven’t stopped hating me.” 

His eyes met Harry’s, and they were full of tears. “I’m only going to drag you down, Potter. You know that; I know that. I appreciate you being there for me, and I believe you when you say you love me. I’ve been thinking…I still can’t forgive myself - for what I did to you, to Ron, to Hermione. I know it seems like I’m over it. But what if, secretly, nothing’s really fine?” He lifted his hands, looking at them, remembering them caked with blood and dirt and shame. “What if all the people I’ve hurt stay that way forever? Because of what I did? 

“I can still be your friend, Harry. I think I can allow myself that much. But until I properly, really make amends…” 

“Stop.” Harry let the towel fall to the floor. His green eyes had narrowed. “Stop doing this.” 

“What?” Draco asked, genuinely confused. 

“Stop punishing yourself. Look,” Harry turned to face him, and Draco thought he was going to take his hands, but he only reached out with his words. “If you really want to break up with me, it should be because you don’t love me anymore. Not because you’re pushing me away for the sake of it.” 

“I’m not-” 

“Draco.” The familiar syllables fell from his mouth. “Tell me what’s going to happen when we graduate.” 

“We - we’ll become Aurors.” 

“You’re giving twenty years of your life to repay your and your family’s crimes, Draco. That doesn’t seem like enough atonement to you?” 

“I’m doing you a favor!” Draco exclaimed suddenly. “I’m dead weight, Potter! _This_ ,” He roughly pulled up his sleeve, the outline of the Dark Mark blooming on his pale skin, “Is dead weight.” 

He could see Harry struggling with the impulse to lose his temper. “I don’t care about that,” he said fiercely, and he touched him then, cradling his face, wiping away the tears that poured, unnoticed by Draco, down his face. “I care about you, not what’s on your arm.” 

“But why?” Draco whispered, “When that mark belongs to your parents’ murderer?” 

Harry’s expression darkened; he shook his head. “Voldemort is dead. He’s irrelevant. You matter a million times more.” 

“I shouldn’t,” Draco said softly. He reached up and squeezed Harry’s hands, and it felt too much like a gesture of goodbye for Harry to stand. “You don’t need me.” 

“You’re right.” Draco winced; he hadn’t expected Harry to say that so bluntly. “I don’t need you. And I don’t need Ron or Hermione either. I lived for eleven years without knowing them, without knowing you. But I can say honestly that my life would be a whole lot worse without them, without you. You make me happy, Draco Malfoy.” Harry smiled, but his eyes were welling, too.. “I’ve said this before, and I’m saying it now: I don’t know how I fell in love with someone who used to be my worst enemy. It just happened. And I don’t regret it happening.” 

Draco let out an involuntary sob of relief, and he clapped a hand over his mouth, almost embarrassed at the display of emotion. “You’re not giving up, are you?” He asked, voice muffled. 

Harry grinned through his tears. “Nope.” 

“You’re an idiot,” Draco sighed, but he didn’t mean it, and Harry could tell. 

“Maybe so. But I’m your idiot.” Harry wrapped his arms around him, and Draco let him. 

They stood, frozen in time, each feeling the other’s heartbeat. Draco let his tears fall onto his friend’s clean T-shirt. Harry smelled of detergent and soap and gardenias, and Draco breathed him in, silently thanking him for his unfailing mercy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've said this before and I'll keep on saying it: the greatest loves are friends first. In this chapter, Draco and Harry's perspectives kind of blend together. Whether that's just a stylistic thing or they're actually getting that good at reading each other, that's for you to decide.


	49. How It Started

The guilt was killing him. Harry could almost see it, like a black-mouthed parasite, destroying Draco from the inside out. The candlelit vigil had unlocked something in him, broken down the walls he’d built around his heart to forget about the past. But now it came, in relentless waves: the memories of his mistakes, every biting remark, every tear he caused to roll down Hermione’s cheeks, the sharp pang of shame he felt when he found out about the death of Fred Weasley. 

Harry desperately wanted to help in any way he could. Sitting around and giving Draco comforting hugs wasn’t doing much. Harry noticed how his pale hands shook, the shadows under his eyes growing deeper from lack of sleep, the way he flinched away from Ron and Hermione as if afraid to break them with a single touch. 

The night after the Quidditch game, Harry and Draco went to the Owlery together to send their Auror applications. Athena was more than up to the task of carrying two thick envelopes to London, especially when Harry offered her a strip of crispy bacon. She snapped the morsel up, hooted appreciatively, and swooped off the ledge, gray wings fading into the starlit dark. Draco watched her go with a blank expression, as if resigning himself to his forced future. Harry didn’t have to ask if he was happy at this moment; he knew the answer already. 

“It’s going to be fine,” Harry reassured him, but his words sounded hollow. “Your paper’s really well done, and your grades are perfect. There’s no way they won’t let you in.” He knew that getting into Cambridge wasn’t what Draco worried about, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. 

Draco only nodded, shoving his hands into his robe pockets, not something he did very often: a clear sign that he didn’t want to talk. 

The week passed by in a detached sort of way. Harry was content on the surface, practicing tricky Transfiguration with Ron while Hermione corrected their form, hanging out with them in the common room, kissing Draco goodnight at the end of each day. Draco, whom Harry knew wasn’t happy. 

The guilt was killing him. 

The image of Athena swooping away with their meticulously written letters ignited something in Harry’s brain, a spark that he tossed around for as long as it took to blaze. He ordered something from a Hogsmeade shop by owl post, and it arrived on Friday afternoon, just in time. 

At midnight, he found Draco slumped by the lake window, curled in a blanket with his head on a pillow as if he was sleeping. Harry saw his reflection in the glass, eyes half-closed, brow furrowed in worry. Draco spotted him soon enough, tearing his gaze away from the seaweed-filled view. “What are you doing here? It’s late.” 

“I could ask you the same thing.” Harry sat down next to him, placing a large, forest-green velvet box between them. Draco regarded it with tired confusion, slowly lifting himself to a sitting position. 

“Is this for me?” 

“It’s your birthday, isn’t it?” 

Draco’s expression didn’t change. “Yes. How’d you know?” 

“I figured it was in June, but I asked Henrietta to be sure.” 

“Ah. Should I…?” He reached tentatively towards it. 

“Obviously.” Harry smiled teasingly, but Draco hardly seemed to notice. 

He carefully lifted the top of the box. The lid blocked Harry’s view, but he knew what was inside: sheets of neat-edged parchment, an inkwell with self-filling deep blue ink, a wax seal kit, a thin, black marble tablet, and an ostrich quill the color of an overcast sky, tipped with engraved silver. The gift might have looked pretentious for anyone else, but Harry felt it suited Draco’s muted elegance. 

Draco smirked, the closest to a smile he’d worn in days. “You have an appreciation for pretty things, I see.” 

“I’m dating you, aren’t I?” 

Draco _tsk_ ed, but his cheeks darkened. He lifted the seal maker, inspecting the carving. “A dragon? How appropriate.” 

“That’s what your name means, doesn’t it? In Latin?” 

“Yes.” He gently replaced the items and closed the box. “It’s very nice, Harry. Thank you.” 

His words sounded honest. Draco’s hands slid back from the box and back to himself, his right hand resting on his left forearm out of habit. 

“Do you remember how this all started?” Harry asked suddenly, and Draco glanced up as if surprised that he had more to say. 

“This?” Draco gestured, indicating the two of them. “How could I forget…” 

“A letter,” Harry said, and as he spoke, his hand dipped into his robes, pulling out a worn envelope, its dark green seal broken. Draco’s eyes widened. 

“You _kept_ it?” 

Harry slipped out the parchment and held it so Draco could see the last line. **I regret joining him. I regret so much, Potter. More than you know.** “This made me give you a second chance. _This_ ,” He handed the letter to Draco, who grasped it with hesitant hands, “Is all it took. And that’s all it will take.” 

Draco looked from the letter to the writing kit, immediately putting the pieces together. “You’re the most ridiculously sentimental person ever,” He decided. “But maybe you’re right.” He opened the box, took out a sheet of parchment, and smoothed it onto the stone tablet. Next came the inkwell, carefully set upon the cobblestones. The plumed quill trembled with uncertainty in the dim light. “Will you help me?” 

“Yeah, of course.” Harry adjusted his glasses and leaned over the blank paper. “The message should come from you, though.” 

“Right.” The quill dipped into the ink with practiced action, but its tip hesitated. “Well…” Draco bent over the parchment and began to write something, “Every letter starts the same way.” 

He let Harry peer at the first line. **Dear Ron and Hermione** …

• • •

The warmth of starlight and a melancholy summer breeze. Harry remembered it as he stood beneath an ash tree, its wide branches providing cover from the midday sun. 

Had it really been a year ago? 

He sat down in the grass and watched as a figure, robed in flowing, forest green, met two others by a worn wooden bench. 

Nearly a year since they’d met in the alleyway, faces lit by the shy moon and stray lamplight. Silver eyes turning away even as they crinkled at the edges with gratitude. Harry couldn’t help but wonder if Draco had loved him, just a little, even then. 

Harry wasn’t close enough to make out every detail on their faces, but he could guess Hermione’s, Ron’s, and Draco’s expressions. Draco, his motions stiff, unfolded a thin sheet of parchment. His shoulders raised and lowered almost imperceptibly with a breath. His mouth began to move. 

Harry knew every word written on that page - not that he could recite it verbatim, of course. Not when they’d stayed up nearly until sunrise writing it. In fact, he felt sleepy even now, the slight prickliness of the grass beneath him not enough of a deterrent to keep him from slumping. Perhaps he’d better stand up. 

Draco’s nervous eyes glanced at his two-person audience but never once flickered to his boyfriend. Draco was skilled at many things, Harry knew, but poise came naturally to him. Admittedly, he hadn’t exhibited that quality much in his youth, but now, it was one of the things Harry liked most about him. The confident flow of speech, the graceful movement of his hands, his impeccable posture. Harry figured he could single out Draco from a lineup just by resting his hands on his shoulders, without even looking. 

_You’ll do fine, Draco._ Harry’s eyes began to close as he watched Hermione and Ron. They were listening attentively, politely, engaged with every word that Draco spoke. Harry wished he were closer to see the look in Ron’s eyes. He could practically read his best friend’s mind from his facial expressions. 

Harry rested his head on his arm. The letter was quite long. Unwittingly, he slipped into a dream. 

_The train cars of the Hogwarts Express swayed slightly as it rumbled along the track. A young man, dressed in a crisp uniform and black robes, rested his arm upon the windowsill as he gazed outside. The compartment was empty; the door had just opened._

_Draco looked up, silver eyes curious. “Hello, Potter.”_

_“Hey.” Sliding the door shut, Harry sat across from him. A hint of a smile lingered on Draco’s lips, but he faced the window again, silent. “Do you know where we’re going?”_

_Draco didn’t answer the question. He jutted his pale chin towards the glass. “Look, Harry.”_

_Harry looked. The train slid through a sea of soft clouds, most white, but some blue and purple. As he watched, three silhouettes leaped in and out of the fluff: Luna, laughing gaily as she rode astride a thestral; Ginny, clad in Quidditch gear, zooming forward on her Nimbus; Ron, on a broom as well, Hermione clutching his waist, both of them wearing the same clothes as they did during the battle._

_It didn’t take long for them to pass, and Harry watched for as long as he could as they faded into the distance. As they disappeared, the sun suddenly began to set, and soon the clouds were bathed in silver-lined, dimming twilight. Inside the train’s corridor, golden lamps sputtered to life._

_Draco yawned, his eyelids drooping. Wordlessly, he stood from the bench and sat next to Harry. “I’m tired,” he stated meaningfully._

_Harry reached for a jacket that had spontaneously appeared and arranged it into a sort of pillow on his lap. “Thanks,” Draco murmured, and with the casualness of someone who’d known Harry his whole life, laid his head down, curled up, and promptly closed his eyes._

_Night fell soon enough, and the stars began to show their bright faces, webbed constellations and galaxies sprinkled through the ink-black sky. Harry leaned against the window as Draco slumbered. “Where are we going?” He said again softly. He wondered where his friends were and why they flew so much faster than the train. “We’ll catch up with them, won’t we?”_

_“Hm?” Draco turned, laying on his back, eyes half-open. “I hope so.”_

_Harry glanced down at him, but he’d already closed his eyes. “I love you, you know.”_

_“I know.” Draco’s voice changed, becoming more insistent. “Potter.”_

_“What?”_

_“Potter, wake up.”_

He blinked his eyes open to the bright afternoon. Draco sighed. “Honestly, I was gone for hardly an hour.” 

“I was tired,” Harry protested feebly, sitting up. 

“Apparently.” Draco held out his hand, helping him to stand. Ron and Hermione drew near, and Harry was surprised to see that her face was streaked with tears. 

“Well…Draco got through to us,” Hermione said, smiling, and turned to him. “Could I give you a hug?” 

“Oh - all right.” They made a strange picture, the pale Slytherin and the bushy-haired Muggleborn, embracing like friends on the grass. Ron watched them a bit warily, out of habit, but when they pulled apart, he held out his hand. Draco shook it firmly, and Harry knew that they now truly understood each other as equals. 

“Hope you can feel like one of us, now, mate,” Ron said, clapping Draco’s shoulder, and he smiled hesitatingly. 

“I suppose. Though I’m no hero like you three.” 

“Not yet.” Harry grinned as he linked their hands. “You ready to save the world next autumn?” 

“Merlin, not the world,” Draco sighed. “Let’s focus on actually passing our classes first.” 

“You’ll all do great,” Hermione told them encouragingly. 

“Easy for you to say,” said Ron, “You don’t have to go to school.” 

“Training is a bit like school.” 

“Won’t you be disappointed that there are no exams?” Harry chimed in. 

Hermione chuckled. “I’ll still be able to study.” 

The four students traipsed up the hill to the castle, chatting and laughing. The sun shone, the lake sparkled, and a breeze meandered through the trees. Invisible stars had aligned, and Harry, for once, felt utterly all right with the world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I adore dream sequences and happy endings? Although this isn't ~quite~ the end yet...
> 
> So, today (November 7 2020) is the 1st anniversary of this fanfiction! One year ago, I published one chapter on ff.net, having no idea that so many people would read and love it, and that I would grow to love it as well. This fic is not perfect, but it's been one of my favorite pastimes, a way to express my creativity without putting a ton of pressure on myself.


	50. How It Ends

The last ten gems clinked into Gryffindor’s hourglass on a Wednesday afternoon, earned by a nameless student, who saved their classmate from being struck across the face by a Whipping Willberry in Greenhouse Four. It took three more hours for the school to realize that they had reached their goal, and another two for the grand prize to be announced. 

Horace Slughorn sauntered gaily into the Slytherin common room, bright green robes flowing like sea currents around his feet. The students present looked up from their schoolwork, each already guessing what announcement he was about to make and listening attentively. 

“Well, you all have earned it,” he beamed at them, “Four thousand points. I’ll admit, a few of us teachers didn’t think you’d be able to do it.” He chuckled, twisting at his walrus-like mustache. “But I knew you had it in you! So, the grand prize…” Slughorn spread his arms, making himself even more enormous, and the students leaned in, “A ball! The last Friday of the year. Wear your best fashion, children, and be prepared for what I’ve been told will be a ‘magical night.’” His laughter boomed over the chatter that had immediately erupted. “Ah, anyway. Further details will be posted soon.” 

The news reached Harry as he arrived from Quidditch practice - Ginny insisted on having a few friendly scrimmages before the end of the year, for the fun of it -, broom in hand, sweat drying on his forehead. Draco looked over his shoulder from the sofa and said, silver eyes alight, “There’s a ball next week.” 

“Next week?” Harry’s eyebrows shot into his damp hair, and he took a moment to register the news. He didn’t much fancy dances, but Draco appeared so excited at the prospect that he didn’t even consider not attending. “Do you want to…?” 

“Yes,” Draco said immediately. “I’ve talked to the others,” by which Harry assumed he meant Ron and Hermione, “and we’re all going to Hogsmeade to shop tomorrow. Ginny and her friends are coming along, as well.” 

“Tabitha and Cass?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“That’s nice.” Harry was a little thrown off by Draco’s tone as he spoke of the plans he’d made, with an air of nonchalance, of put-togetherness. Ever since he’d written that letter, a tension had dissipated from Draco’s shoulders, replaced with confidence. With aloofness, a devil-may-care attitude that Harry found both weirdly nostalgic and achingly attractive. “You seem…happy today, Draco.” 

Draco tilted his head as if surprised that Harry was stating the obvious. “I can be happy.” 

“I know. I’m happy that you’re happy.” 

Draco’s arm was draped along the top of the sofa. He turned to face him. “Come here.” 

Harry had barely leaned down when Draco reached up, pulling him down with a firm hand on his neck. Their noses bumped, and Draco kissed him fiercely, then pulled away before Harry had even realized what was happening. If he hadn’t been so caught off-guard, Harry might have noticed the way people around them had begun to stare, but as it was, he felt suddenly breathless at how smoothly Draco had tantalized him, had drawn him in. 

“You should take a shower,” Draco said conversationally, his hand resting on Harry’s waist. 

Not one to be outdone, Harry took his hand and brought it to his mouth. “I will,” He murmured, and lips moving against Draco’s pale knuckles, formed the words, _join me._ Draco flushed, and Harry smirking, dropping his hand, not giving a single damn about the students that stared as he strolled off. 

• • •

Summer spread itself lazily across the Hogwarts grounds, breezes winding between the towers, carrying the fragrance of freshly blooming flowers. Sunshine beamed down warmly on a sauntering Saturday, and most students abandoned their robes for light Muggle clothes as they walked in groups to Hogsmeade. 

“Feel okay?” Harry glanced over at Draco as they ambled along the village’s main street. 

“What do you mean?” Draco felt fine, if a little hot, but even unfastening a single button would expose the beginnings of his scars, slashing up his chest like fragmented bolts of lightning. 

“I mean…are you, you know, sore?” 

Draco raised a hand to cover the blush he felt unfurling across his face. “Merlin, Potter, not _here_. I’m fine.” 

“Just checking.” Harry seemed a bit embarrassed that he’d brought it up, but Draco was grateful for the concern. 

Five people stood near the display window of DeWit’s Boutique, a relatively high-end clothing shop that Draco used to browse in when he was younger. Luna, Cassandra, and Tabitha all smiled politely when they approached. 

“Hey, Quidditch star!” Ginny greeted Harry, giving him a quick hug, then glanced apologetically at Cass. 

“No, no, feel free to rub it in,” Cass said flippantly, but she didn’t seem angry. “You won, I lost. We’ll see who’s playing for England in ten years.” 

“Both of us, maybe.” Ginny grinned as she nudged her friend playfully. 

Draco did a double-take as he noticed the fifth figure that stood, silent and brooding, at the back of the group. He was tall and lanky, like Ron, but with none of his warmth and charm. Eyes almost the color of pitch, even in the sunlight, regarded the students as if they were children he had been forced to babysit. He nodded at Draco, whose hand drifted to his trouser pocket on instinct. 

“Malfoy.” 

“Nott.” 

“Why are you here?” Harry cut in; he’d noticed him, too, green eyes narrowing. 

“Now, now. We’re all friends here,” said Theodore Nott, slowly raising his hands in lazy surrender. “Came to see my baby sister,” he patted Tabitha’s head, who looked disgruntled at being patronized, “and lend her some money for this little ball you kids are having.” 

“Kids,” Draco echoed, raising an eyebrow, “Who are your age.” 

“And unemployed, I’d imagine, seeing as you’re stuck in school,” Theodore replied with a smirk. Draco couldn’t come up with a retort, but he was saved as Hermione and Ron joined them, him holding a couple of paper bags from Honeydukes. 

“Lovely morning, isn’t it?” Ron greeted all of them loudly. His broad grin didn’t fade even when he noticed Theodore. “What a surprise! Nott, is it?” 

“Yup.” Theodore looked slightly amused at being addressed with such affability but shook Ron’s and Hermione’s hands. 

“So, what have you been up to?” Hermione asked smoothly, taking over Draco’s role as the poised converser. 

“Little bit of this, little bit of that,” Theodore said, flitting a pale hand about vaguely. 

“Little bit of Dark magic?” Draco asked, unable to keep a jab of venom out of his voice. 

“Merlin, no. Tabs and I don’t run with that crowd anymore, do we?” He replied, squeezing her shoulder. “I’m a businessman, simple as that. Don’t be so suspicious, Malfoy.” 

Draco bristled. “I’m being careful.” 

Harry laid a hand on his arm and exchanged a look with Hermione, who said, “Why don’t we go in?” 

The shop expanded on the inside, its lavish velvet walkways and high ceilings contrasting with its polished but innocuous appearance from the street. On one side were aisles of dress robes, silk, embroidered, with rhinestones, with ruffles, or lace. The other side held clothes styled like Muggle outfits, mostly dresses, but with a few suits and tuxedos that were light enough to accommodate a robe on top. Draco had seen far more impressive boutiques in London, of course, but the shop was still as high-end as he remembered it. 

Cass smothered a squeal when she saw all the glittering, colorful fabric. “Ah - I almost forgot,” She turned to face the group, “Couples should split up so you can be surprised when you first see them all dressed up.” 

“How hopeless romantic of you,” Ginny remarked, and Cass punched her shoulder. 

“Like you aren’t one, too.” 

“All right, it’s a cute idea.” 

“I’ll start on that side, I suppose,” Harry told Draco with a shrug, nodding to the robes, and the teens drifted to different parts of the store. 

Draco meandered to a rack of dress shirts, shoving his hands in his pockets to discourage the childish urge to run his hands over the cloth. As a kid, he used to do that, back when he thought all the world was in his grasp. 

As he was admiring a high-collared charcoal shirt, Draco felt someone staring at him. He glanced stealthily over his shoulder; Theodore was looking at him between a row of tuxes. 

“What?” Draco asked brashly, gripping his wand in his pocket. 

Theodore didn’t answer but emerged from his hiding spot, casually coming to stand beside him. He hummed thoughtfully as he pawed through the shirts, looking back and forth between them and Draco. Finally, he picked out a number that Draco admittedly had his eye on, a crisp garment with a gorgeous, silvery satin color. “Matches your eyes,” Theodore remarked. 

Draco pushed the hanger away as Theodore tried to hold it up to him. “Why are you really here, Theo?” 

“Oh, getting familiar, are we?” Theodore slid the shirt back into the rack. “It’s like I said, I came for Tabitha. But all right, I will say,” he added as Draco glared, “I was hoping to catch up with you, too. Haven’t seen you since-” 

“Since we were a part of a pureblood supremacy organization bent on murdering half the human population.” 

“Uh-huh.” Only now did Theodore look uncomfortable, wringing his spiderlike hands. Draco still hadn’t fully registered that he was here, that only a few years ago, their fathers had joined the Dark Lord in his twisted quest for power. Theodore had changed, Draco could tell, but not that much. When they were younger, he’d been a follower like Crabbe and Goyle - but shifty, bitter, and faithless, like Pansy. Draco had never trusted him. For Theodore to show up now, with no warning…he wasn’t sure how to feel about it. 

“Well, hey, that’s not fair,” Theodore said presently, “I never _really_ joined them. You did.” 

That familiar hot flash of guilt sprung free into Draco’s mind, and he wrestled it back into a cage as he said, “I left.” 

“So did my family. Fair’s fair.” 

Draco’s hand wavered over the shirts. That silvery one _would_ look awfully nice on him. Out of spite, he grabbed a black one with shiny, gray abalone buttons, instead. “Do me a favor…” He began, meaning to say, _“and leave me alone,”_ but Theodore interrupted. 

“Come outside with me a moment, won’t you?” 

“What?” 

“Just leave that; it’ll still be there,” Theodore told him, jutting his chin at the shirt, but that was not the reason for Draco’s hesitation. 

“I’m not going anywhere with you. How stupid do you think I am?” 

“C’mon, Dray.” 

“I hate when you call me that.” 

“For old time’s sake?” 

“I said no.” 

“I need your advice,” said Theodore desperately. 

Draco crossed his arms. “On what?” 

“I…” His dark eyes darted around the shop, though no one else was watching. “Not here. It’ll take just a minute, I promise. Please.” 

Draco sighed sharply. “Fine,” He said through gritted teeth. 

The two Slytherins slipped out the back door of the shop into an alleyway. It was colder here in the shade, and a breeze swept behind the building, carrying the sickly-sweet smell of Honeyduke’s excess. Theodore seemed to have lost some of his unflappability; his nervous hands fidgeted, dipping into his pockets for a box of cigarettes. 

“Smoke?” 

“No, thanks.” Draco crossed his arms as Theodore jerked the cigarette in hand - it lit by itself. “So?” 

“So.” Theodore took a long drag, then exhaled, dirty gray smoke clouding his face. He appeared to relax, though Draco’s nose crinkled as he fought the urge to cough. He despised cigarettes. “You and the Savior, huh?” 

“His name is Harry,” Draco snapped, “And what about it? I thought you were going to ask for my advice.” 

“I’m getting to that.” The smoke faded to a thin trail spiraling from the tip. “You’re gay, then, Malfoy?” 

“Yes, and what about it?” Draco growled, growing increasingly anxious. 

“Is it hard?” The question felt sincere, a genuine inquiry, and from the nervous look on Theodore’s wan face, Draco realized what was going on. “I mean…how did you come out without being a complete disaster?” 

Draco chuckled without thinking, and Theodore’s expression twisted in apprehensive terror. “No, I - I’m not laughing at you, Nott. Theo. It _was_ a complete disaster. Being forced to come out didn’t help. Ah…anyway, that’s a long story. The point is…” He paused. “It’s hard, being different. I’m not going to sugarcoat it. But I just want to exist, you know? Love whomever I want while everyone else leaves me alone.” Draco laughed again, short and bitter. “No one ever leaves me alone. But then again, what do I know?” He shrugged, as if to say, _I know nothing._ “I’m the villain from children’s storybooks, too. Being gay just makes all that even worse.” 

Theodore took another drag, eyebrows furrowing through the ensuing plume of smoke. “Mother of Merlin.” 

Draco nodded, agreeing with his defeated tone. “So…who else knows about you?” 

“Just my sister.” Theodore rolled the cigarette between his fingers. “She was fine with it. Told me I was brave, thanked me for telling her, that whole shindig." 

_“Thank you for telling me,” Harry said, his voice soft. “I’m sure this probably isn’t the easiest thing to do.”_

“I know my mum would give me hell about it, though,” Theodore continued resentfully. “She’s always nagging me to find a pureblood wife.” 

“You still hung up about blood?” Draco asked cautiously. 

Theodore shook his head. “Nah, it’s too much of a bother to keep track of, if I’m honest. What’s the point? I can’t even bring myself to have kids.” He tossed the spent cigarette onto the cobblestones and crushed it beneath a polished black heel. “What should I do, then?” 

Draco spread his hands helplessly. His empathy had grown for Theodore in just a few short minutes, but he didn’t feel qualified to give advice; his own life wasn’t exactly stable. “I couldn’t have made it through this past year without Harry. Having someone to support you is really helpful. You’ve got Tabitha, at least. Unless there’s someone else?” 

“There might be.” Theodore smiled, truly smiled, for the first time, a faraway look in his dark eyes. Draco knew that look well, had seen it reflected in an emerald green gaze. “I dunno yet. We’ll see.” 

“Well…take things slow. That’s all I can say.” 

“All right.” Theodore shoved his hands in his pockets. “Hey - thanks, Malfoy. I mean that.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

“Will you write to me this summer?” He asked. 

Draco hesitated. “Sure.” 

Theodore gave him an address, some hoity-toity street in London, and the pair walked back inside. In the time they’d been gone, Luna, Ginny, Cass, and Ron had finished and chatted near the entrance with large, paper bags emblazoned with the shop’s logo. Draco wandered back to the shirt rack he’d been browsing, wavering between the options. He chose the black one in the end; silver simply didn’t go well with his complexion. 

Harry and Hermione were the last to finish, Hermione looking smugly between him and Draco. 

“Need something?” Draco asked, not appreciating being stared at. 

“Just can’t wait to see the look on your face when you see him,” Hermione grinned. 

“Same goes for you, Ron,” Harry said, clapping his friend’s shoulder, “You’re a lucky bloke.” 

“Oh, I know.” Ron kissed the top of Hermione’s head, and she beamed. He returned the smile, still in the same inexplicably buoyant mood he’d been in when they started. Draco saw him glance at Harry, and a message passed between them, a secret glance between friends. Draco tamped down rising feelings of jealousy; he was sure he’d find out what the look meant soon enough. 

Laden with merchandise, the group headed for the Three Broomsticks, which was so packed that the crowd spilled out the back door and into the adjoining alley. Madam Rosmerta and her employees had worked double-time to accommodate, transforming the cracked cobblestones into a soft carpet of grass and duplicating tables so people could sit outside. The eight students were seated immediately by a young waiter who seemed as if he’d just been hired and looked astonished upon seeing The Chosen One. Draco wondered if he’d read the _Witch Weekly_ article. 

“Eight butterbeers, please,” Ginny told the waiter. 

“Make that seven and a firewhiskey,” Theodore corrected. 

The hum of conversation wound its way above the tables, each their own island of friends, classmates, and acquaintances, punctuated with the clinking of glasses and bursts of laughter. Draco fell silent for a while, watching his friends interact, taking satisfaction in the fact that he could interject at any time, and they would allow it with no objections. How strange it was to be part of this dynamic, the girls that giggled at Ron’s stories, Theodore sipping his whiskey and supplying his wit every once in a while, and Harry, whose arm was draped around Draco’s shoulders as if it was the most normal thing in the world. 

Three little brown birds, which Draco recognized as sparrows, swooped overhead, chirping and dancing circles around each other as they headed for the trees. The silhouette of their tiny figures against the bright expanse of the sky suddenly reminded him of something. 

“Hey.” He placed his hand on Harry’s thigh to get his attention, and before he could reply, Draco held his face and kissed him. No hiding, no looking around first to see if anyone was watching, just a simple, soft, kiss, fabric beneath one palm and warm skin beneath the other, tasting the sweetness of butterbeer on Harry’s lips. 

“What was that for?” Harry asked, mouth twitching in amusement. Draco was tempted to kiss him again but answered as his thumb brushed over Harry’s bottom lip. 

“A promise is a promise.” 

Harry grinned. “You remembered.” 

“Of course, I did. Dolt.” 

This time, it was Harry who kissed him first. Draco’s ears were deaf to the whispers and exclamations, eyes closed against the incredulous faces, his other senses overflowing with skin and gardenias and the hum in Harry’s throat. The Three Broomsticks' patrons could have all been making the most obscene, hateful gestures at them, and Draco couldn’t have cared less. 

• • •

A pair of green eyes met their counterparts in the mirror, narrowing critically. Harry had never given much thought to his appearance, but he felt that tonight was as good a time as ever to make an effort. 

_I look the same,_ he thought, not disappointedly, but as a simple observance. Light brown skin, not without its imperfections, startling eyes, the scar branching across his forehead, black hair that he’d given up on trying to press flat long ago. It stood up all over the place, as usual, and Harry ran his hands through it, trying to at least make it appear askew with _purpose._

The clothes were nice, at least. Harry wore a deep green waistcoat embroidered with gold, over a simple black shirt and trousers, beneath a black, green-lined robe. Hermione had persuaded Harry to choose emerald to match his eyes, though it made him look like he was in Slytherin. Harry didn’t know much about fashion, but based on the price and Hermione’s enthusiastic nods at the shop, he figured the outfit, despite being unlike anything he’d ever worn, suited him. 

“Looking sharp, mate,” Ron said, sidling next to him. He’d opted for wizarding dress robes, in a shade of midnight blue that unsurprisingly didn’t clash with his red hair. The style was unelaborate yet refined, with clear-cut edges, layers that became slightly darker as they moved inward, and a collar thankfully lacking lace. 

“Not so bad yourself,” Harry replied, grinning at him in the mirror. 

Ron cleared his throat, and his smile faded. He turned to his best friend, tugging at his own sleeves nervously. “Hey, um…I want to tell you something.” 

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Sure,” He said slowly, “You can tell me anything.” 

“So…” Ron glanced around, but they were the only ones in the Gryffindor Tower’s bathroom. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box. 

It took Harry less than a second to realize what it meant. “Ron!” He gasped excitedly, and Ron shushed him. 

“C’mon, mate, the whole castle will hear you.” 

“You’re doing it tonight?” Harry’s heart had begun to beat faster as if Ron’s anxiousness had become his own. 

“I…” Ron tossed the box between his hands. “I don’t know. Maybe? Do you think it’s too early? We’ve only been together for a year.” 

“You love her,” Harry stated; there was no need to ask. “Why wait? You don’t have to get married…” 

“…Right away, yeah,” Ron finished his sentence. “I don’t know if I’m ready for…you know. _Marriage._ But I do know I want to marry Hermione Granger.” He smiled broadly at the admittance. “She’s the one.” 

“Tonight, then?” 

“There’s too many people around,” Ron decided finally, slipping the box back into his pocket. “I have another day in mind.” 

Harry waited for him to continue. 

“Oh - it’ll be a surprise. But I thought you should know that it’s going to happen soon. Don’t say anything,” Ron requested earnestly, eyes widening. 

“You kidding? Of course, I won’t.” 

“Well…on accident, maybe. _I_ can hardly keep it a secret.” Ron took a deep breath. “Anyway…You ready?” 

“Yeah. Merlin, this is great news! I’m really happy for you, mate.” 

Ron made a zipping gesture across his lips, and Harry nodded. He tried to school his features into a neutral expression as the two friends entered the Gryffindor common room, which had begun to empty. Ginny and Hermione looked up as they drew near. 

“You…” Ron was at a loss for words as he offered Hermione his hand, almost unable to speak. “Blimey.” 

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” Hermione laughed, squeezing his hand affectionately. Her dress, which was silky, light blue, and layered, shone with every slight movement. The thin white ribbon tied around her waist matched the one at her neck, which glittered with diamonds, as did her ears. Hermione’s hair was as thick as ever, not sleek, but she had seemed to embrace its natural waviness and opted for a full, natural style that Harry thought suited her wonderfully. “You look dashing yourself, Ron.” 

“Thank you,” He managed. They looked pleasing, standing together; he was the midnight sky to her daylight. 

“Shall we go, then?” Ginny asked, nearly bouncing with excitement. She wore black trousers and a tie over a deep plum shirt whose rolled-up sleeves drew attention to the gold bracelet winding up her arm. Her makeup was light, face framed by a few stray hairs escaping from an elaborate bun. The colors and style reminded Harry a bit of the Weasley twins’ Wheezes uniform - the grin she wore mirrored Fred’s exactly, and he felt so spooked that he was grateful to look away for a moment as they headed for the stairs. 

“Have you seen the dining hall yet?” Hermione asked conversationally. “I think Flitwick was putting up some enchanted lanterns earlier.” 

“Oh!” Ginny interjected, “I saw some people coming in with these big cases, violin-shaped.” 

“A classical orchestra?” Hermione asked, eyes shining. 

“Apparently.” 

“I thought we got the Weird Sisters again?” said Ron. 

“We did,” Ginny assured him. “They’re coming a bit later.” 

“You’ll dance to classical music with me, right?” Hermione asked, nudging Ron. 

“Of course,” Ron replied, though he sounded a little pained. 

Flickering torchlight lit the staircase, whose banisters were draped in emerald, scarlet, blue, and yellow cloth. Harry didn’t spot Draco just yet, but as the foursome descended, a burst of yellow suddenly sped toward them, and Ginny laughed as she caught Luna in her arms. 

“Hello, gorgeous,” Ginny said as Luna ceased being a blur. Her dress, long with a flowing skirt, was bright as a canary, decorated with elegant sunflowers at the bottom that moved in an invisible wind. 

“You look so pretty, darling,” Luna cooed, pressing a kiss to Ginny’s lips. She turned to the others, smiling dreamily. “You all, too.” 

“Thanks, Luna,” “Oh, thank you!” came the overlapping replies. 

The droning, steady sound of tuning string instruments reverberated down the wide corridor. Luna’s eyes widened. “Music! Let’s go,” She said and tugged Ginny away, their footsteps echoing on the cobblestone. 

“M’lady,” Ron spoke in an overly posh accent as he offered his arm to Hermione. The trio made it to the bottom of the steps, joining the crowd below. A few of the eighth years waved to them, and Harry waved back. 

The small orchestra had struck up a slow, swelling tune, the soothing sound echoing into the corridor. Harry moved with his friends through the crowd, his partner unable to be found in the sea of color. 

A hand landed on his shoulder, and the touch was so familiar that Harry turned around immediately. 

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” said Draco Malfoy, and the sight of him, the smirk curving his lips, his hand lingering, rendered Harry speechless. He was dressed in nearly all black, save for shiny, silver buttons and his robes’ hem, which slowly turned to gray as the fabric neared the floor. Despite the casual elegance of Draco’s clothes, Harry couldn’t help but notice everything else: the exposed collarbone, the muscles in his neck moving as he talked, the skin of his wrist as the sleeve fell away, and his eyes…Merlin, his _eyes._ Harry had never been interested in makeup or paid attention to the girls who wore it, but the silver in Draco’s eyes seemed brighter than ever, outlined lightly in black, smudged with something sparkly and dark gray. “Pick this out yourself?” 

Harry opened and closed his mouth like a fish. “H-Hermione helped,” He managed. 

“She did a good job.” Draco wet his lips as he admired the fabric of the waistcoat. “Green suits you.” 

“Thank you.” Harry finally found his voice and added quickly, “You look stunning, Draco.” 

“Thanks. Henrietta did this for me,” Draco indicated his eyes, “She did a nice job, no?” 

“Uh-huh.” Harry felt his head spin a little as Draco stepped closer, and he caught a whiff of whatever cologne he was wearing, a bit flowery, but there was something underneath, a musk that reminded Harry of a coming rainstorm. 

“You all right?” Without asking for permission, Draco reached up and unfastened the button at Harry’s neck, helping him breathe easier. The warmth of his hands at his neck conjured all sorts of images in Harry’s mind, and he resolutely pushed them away. _Hell, I’m acting like such a teenager._ Draco’s hand rested on Harry’s chest for a moment longer than was necessary, and his silver eyes glittered with mischief as he finally released him. He knew exactly what he was doing. _Cheeky bastard._

“Fuck, Draco,” Harry muttered under his breath, and Draco looked startled at the words, but he regained his composure quickly. 

“Too early for that,” he said amiably and took Harry’s arm. “Let’s go, then. I’ll teach you how to dance properly.” 

“Oh - I don’t dance.” 

“I’ll teach my _boyfriend_ ,” Draco placed immense emphasis on the word, “How to dance the waltz. If they play one.” 

“Oh, all right,” Harry relented. In truth, he would have let Draco teach him a million old, complicated dances if only to be close to him. Warmth radiated off him like dusky sunlight, emanated through his content smile and the shine of his hair; Harry couldn’t stop staring. 

As they entered the dining hall, they were met with a vast expanse of light and color. The floating candles had been replaced with suspended, sparkling, crystal chandeliers backed by a galaxy-adorned sky. The alcoves hung lanterns whose flames’ color alternated between red, blue, yellow, and green. Tables draped in ivory linen, with a round vase of assorted flowers at each center, lined the expansive dance floor. The six-person orchestra played on a raised dais where the head table usually stood. A few older students danced, some more gracefully than others, but most of the attendants milled about the tables, chatting or heading for the buffet on one side. 

“There,” Draco said as he spotted Ron and Hermione sitting before a vase of white and yellow roses. 

“Hey!” Hermione greeted. “Draco, that eyeshadow looks amazing on you.” 

“Thank you; Henrietta did it for me.” 

Just then, the orchestra’s slow song ended, and they struck up a faster melody, one that even Harry could guess was a waltz - the one-two-three beat was unmistakable. 

“Oh, I wish I knew how to dance the waltz,” Hermione sighed, “I meant to learn, but never did.” 

“My mother taught me loads of dances,” Draco told her. “I can show you and Harry. And Ron, of course, you’ll need a partner.” Ron looked a bit unenthusiastic at the idea, but he gamely took Hermione’s hand. 

“Right hands clasped, left hand on the waist,” Draco instructed as they stood by the table. He rested his hand on Harry’s waist underneath his robe, pulling him a bit closer than necessary, but his face remained innocent. “The dance pattern is quite simple, really. Watch me.” To Harry, “Just step backwards when I’m going forward. Should be easy.” 

Harry scoffed. “I’m going to be rubbish.” 

“Not with me, you’re not. Ready? One, two, three, one, two three…” 

Harry felt terribly clumsy, but Draco kept an ironclad grip on him, steering him in a repeated pattern, and soon Harry began to get a feel for it. He stepped on Draco’s toes more than once, and the Slytherin made faces but remained patient. Hermione and Ron seemed to be getting the hang of it, and the two couples eventually diverged, moving through the dancing crowd, every step highlighted by the sunny notes of the violin. 

“You’re not entirely abysmal,” Draco remarked as Harry finally found the confidence to stop looking down at his feet. 

“Are you impressed?” 

“It’ll take a bit more to impress me, Potter.” 

The music swelled in volume, the rich harmonies from the cello backing up their higher-voiced counterparts. “Let’s see if you can handle a spin,” Draco said suddenly. 

“A what…!” Draco’s hand, grasping in Harry’s, lifted, turning him in place. Surprisingly, Harry managed not to make a complete fool of himself. As he finished the spin, he nearly stumbled, but Draco steadied him, laughing. 

“You’re utterly _red_ , Potter.” 

“Shut up,” Harry muttered, but Draco’s grin was infectious, and he smiled as he added, “Don’t do that again.” 

“I’ll give you some warning next time,” Draco promised, and he brushed his lips near Harry’s as an apology. A thrill of energy went down Harry’s spine; Draco’s newfound confidence hadn’t yet failed to surprise him. 

After an hour or so of lush string instruments and loosely structured dances, the chamber orchestra took their leave to a polite round of applause. Harry had enjoyed the classical dancing more than he thought he would, but less than Draco. The bright look in his silver eyes and the flush across his pale cheeks made it worth it for Harry, and he took satisfaction in asking Draco to sit while he grabbed them both punch. 

“No one’s spiked it yet,” Ron observed, smacking his lips as the four friends gathered once more. He took another sip of the amber-colored punch and shook his head. 

“There are _kids_ here, Ron,” Hermione scolded. 

“Who will all be in bed well before midnight,” He assured her. 

“Are you planning on doing it, then?” Harry asked him. 

Ron patted his robe pockets meaningfully. “Nah, I’m clean. ‘Sides, Fred always said spiking drinks was the laziest kind of prank.” He recalled his brother fondly, pressing ahead of the sadness that lingered behind his name. “It’s easy to have fun without alcohol.” 

“Is that another way of saying you can’t hold your poison?” Draco ribbed. 

“Don’t test me,” Ron joked back. “We’ll all go to a pub sometime after graduation, and I’ll prove you wrong.”

Draco smirked and wordlessly raised his glass to the Gryffindor in reply. Just then, a group of eccentric figures wandered onto the dais, dressed in ripped robes and elaborate makeup, carrying electric guitars, parts of a drum set, amps, and oddly enough, a few jazz instruments. 

“Now we’re talking,” Ron grinned as the Weird Sisters cast tuning charms on their instruments, shook the wild hair from their faces, and stepped up to the microphone. 

One person with pink fishnets and a black-and-white striped mane cried, “Hey!” 

Half the students shouted, “Hey!” back, including Ron. “What’s happening?” Harry asked, looking around in bewilderment. 

“It’s a Weird Sisters thing,” Ron told him, shrugging. 

“I have some questions for y’all,” said the singer, “Are you ready to feel the noise?” 

“Yeah!” came the chorus. 

“Are you ready to feel the magic?” 

“Yeah!” 

“Are you ready to get weird, get loud, and lose? Your? Heads?” 

“YEAH!” 

“Let’s go!” 

The guitarists erupted into furious, electrifying riffs, and the drummer struck up a strong rock rhythm. The students cheered at the change in atmosphere, swarming to the dance floor, moving their arms and heads, fabric swishing as they jumped to the beat. Ron took Hermione’s hand, and they joined the throng, wearing wild grins as they danced. 

“You don’t want to join in?” Harry asked Draco, who seemed perfectly content to say sitting. 

“I never know what to do with my arms,” he replied with an elegant shrug. “You go on if you want.” 

“Ah - no, I’m okay. I don’t really know how to dance to this, either.” 

Harry had hardly finished speaking when two firm hands suddenly grabbed his shoulders. “Aha!” someone exclaimed, and he jumped in surprise, knocking over his cup. The autumn-colored punch splashed across the white linen. 

“I’ve got it,” Luna said, appearing from nowhere, and she untangled her wand from her hair and cleaned the spill with a wave. 

“Oh, I wish I could’ve seen the look on your face,” Ginny giggled from behind, and she moved to sit beside him. “How come you’re not dancing?" 

“You scared me,” he said meekly. 

“You’ll be all right. Come on, this is one of the Sisters’ best songs.” 

“ _Can’t think straight when I’m around you,_ ” Warbled the lead singer. “Can’t _sleep without you / There’s someone always on my mind; think about it, guess who?_ ” 

“There’s no structure to this music,” Draco remarked. “Harry and I can just watch.” 

“Don’t be silly, Draco, I see your foot tapping,” Ginny said sternly, and Draco looked sheepish. 

“It’s easy,” Luna said airily. “Just…Lose yourself to it.” Bobbing her head to the music, she lifted her arms, closed her eyes, and swayed into the crowd, her yellow blending into the rainbow. 

“Merlin, she’s beautiful,” Ginny muttered to herself. To Harry and Draco, “Well? Up you get.” 

“This is forced fun,” Draco grumbled, but he obliged. 

“It’ll be great, you’ll see,” Ginny singsonged. 

They followed her through a small gap in the crowd, where the pressed bodies and cheers and limbs made room. Harry could feel the energy here, like magic, coursing from the band up front to the listeners spread through the hall. Ginny began to move her hips and hands to the rhythm, smiling as she let the music take control. 

“Well? Don’t just stand there.” 

Feeling a bit stupid at first, Harry tried to feel the beat, stepping back and forth, jerking his arms. The crowd grew closer, and as the song went on, Harry let his worries fly up into the starry ceiling, focusing on nothing but the shouted words and the heat of his companion. 

“ _Losing my head! / Losing my breath / I don’t know where I’d be if I hadn’t met you._ ” 

The band played love songs, angry songs, deliriously happy songs. With every passing minute, Harry forgot his past and future, just a little, only paying attention to the here and now, the faces of his friends that passed by, Draco’s hands that pulled him close and twirled him, just for fun. At some point, Harry had taken off his robes; the stifling warmth was getting to him. 

As the night wore on, the younger students began to trudge off to bed, shoes in their hands and smiles on their faces. Harry met up with more of the seventh years - Cassandra asked him to dance, as did Erin, Luna, and Ollie. Ron asked him as well, and they performed a rendition of a slow waltz as the Weird Sisters played a much faster rock song. Harry felt like a real teenager in those moments, joking and chatting with his friends, spinning in wild circles with Luna, joining Ginny’s chain of dancers, watching the others as he sipped punch with Hermione. 

But he always came back to Draco, his slim, black silhouette and silver eyes that creased at the edges with a smile. Harry found him within the crowd, half-dancing, half-talking to Henrietta. 

“Hey,” Draco slipped an arm around Harry’s waist when he noticed him. 

“Hey. Having fun?” Harry directed the question to both him and Henrietta, who grinned. 

“Draco was just telling me about the Hungarian Horntail tattoo you have on your chest,” she teased. 

“Ah, not this again,” Harry mock-sighed. “Bringing up jokes from fourth year, are we?” He asked Draco. 

“I’m a little late, I realize.” 

“Hen!” A girl called from a bit farther away, and Henrietta looked up. 

“See you lovebirds later,” She said with a wink and slipped into the crowd. 

Without warning, Draco tightened his hold, leaned close, and pressed a soft kiss to Harry’s temple, almost making him lose his train of thought. 

“She’s coming out of her shell,” said Harry. 

“Mhm. Dropping Pansy was good for her.” 

“So…talk to Ginny lately?” 

“Ah, the tattoo thing.” Draco withdrew slightly, his piercing eyes meeting Harry’s. “Yes. I’m trying to catch up on all your little inside jokes.” 

There was a touch of real regret in his tone, and Harry squeezed his hand comfortingly. “We’ll have our own in time. Remember when I gave you that apple, and you ate it in, I dunno, five seconds?” 

“Was that funny?” Draco asked, tilting his head. 

“I thought so.” 

“Hm.” Draco’s gaze dropped to Harry’s lips, lingering for a bit longer than usual, which he found incredibly distracting. 

“What?” 

“Nothing, I’m a bit tired.” 

The current song drew to a close, and the lead singer tapped the microphone before speaking. “Second to last song for tonight, kiddos.” A collective _aww_ from the dance floor. “Yeah, yeah, I know, I’ll miss you, too. Anyways…this next one is a Muggle classic. I know you guys are gonna love it.” The band struck up a slow, piano-driven jazz beat, and immediately the crowd of students began to drift into pairs. 

“May I have this dance?” Harry asked, though their hands were already intertwined. 

“I’m all y-yours,” Draco stammered through the last word as he stifled a yawn. “Hold me, will you?” He turned, letting Harry embrace him from behind, and they swayed in place to the soft music. 

“ _I fall in love too easily. I fall in love too fast._ ” 

Harry smiled as Draco slumped against him, eyes sliding closed. He smelled of caramel and rain and teenage sweat. 

“ _I fall in love too terribly hard / For love to ever last._ ” 

“This is hardly a proper way to dance,” Harry murmured teasingly, but Draco did not answer, though he moved his head slightly. “You really are tired, huh? We can go after this.” 

“Shh. I like this song.” 

“You’ve heard it before?” 

“I think so. Listen.” 

The singer’s voice, quiet and plaintive, spread like honey over their heads. Harry looked up, seeing the glittering stars of the ceiling, the dimmed candles. He closed his eyes too, focusing on the sound of Draco’s breathing, the warmth of his body pressed against him. A band member procured a trumpet, filling the gap as the singer stepped away, and began to play a gentle, wavering solo. Draco opened his eyes halfway, reached up, and pulled Harry into a kiss. The feel of his lips, the understated melody of the piano as it took over - Harry could hardly imagine a moment more perfect. 

“ _My heart should be well-schooled / ‘Cause I’ve been fooled in the past. But still, I fall in love too easily / I fall in love too fast._ ” 

As the song ended, Draco turned, placing his arms around Harry’s neck and letting his head drop onto his shoulder. “Muggle music isn’t bad,” He mumbled sleepily. The people around them applauded the band politely, and the sound was like summer rain. 

“You’re really tired, huh? Off to bed with you,” Harry told Draco firmly, and he didn’t argue, clinging to him as they headed away from the noise and the crush of bodies. 

The sound of muffled bass and drums followed them until the silent dungeons, save for the crackling of a muted, lavender-colored fire in the grate. Their robes draped over one arm, the other wrapped around Draco’s shoulders, Harry supported him all the way to his bed. Draco fell to the sheets immediately, muttered something incomprehensible, and sat up again, pulling off his shoes. 

“Had fun?” Harry asked as he sat on the edge of the mattress. 

“‘Course.” Draco leaned forward in the semi-darkness and pressed an affectionate kiss to Harry’s forehead. “Ugh, I shouldn’t sleep in makeup,” He mumbled, clumsily getting beneath the blankets, fully clothed. “But that’s a problem for Tomorrow Draco. Love you.” He promptly closed his eyes and became still. 

“Love you, too,” Harry whispered. Exhaustion began to overtake him as well, and he stayed on the bed for a few minutes, listening once more to Draco’s breath and the night silence. “Heh, Tomorrow Draco. That was quite funny,” He remarked presently, but his boyfriend slumbered on. “Well…goodnight.” 

When he stood from the mattress, Harry promised himself that he’d change and brush his teeth, but by the time he got to his own bed, he was simply too tired. Harry flung off his shoes unceremoniously, flopped upon the sheets, and fell asleep with a heart full of content. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a pleasure writing the conclusion to Draco and Harry's arc. I tend to end my fanfictions with a cutesy, fun scene...however, that may change this time around - there appears to be two more parts left, right? :)
> 
> By the way, at the end of the fic, I'll have an author's notes section with deleted scenes if you wish to read them, and a Q&A. I'll post a question box on my Insta (@eyes.like.emeralds), but feel free to comment any questions you have about my writing process, the plot, the characters, the upcoming sequel, etc. Please keep questions coherent and respectful. If there's a question whose answer may spoil something, I'll address it but will not answer it. Thanks again for reading!


	51. Epilogue: Threshold

Sage-scented smoke trailed before Harry’s eyes, but he resisted the urge to wave it away. The heat from the burning roll in his hand and the sun above prickled his neck with sweat. Summer bugs chirped incessantly, and the lack of breeze was seriously starting to bother him. Harry glanced at Draco as he walked down the gravel path, holding his bundle of burning sage in the air. He seemed peaceful - or at least keeping it together. Harry followed him, trying not to inhale any ashes. 

“Threshold,” Draco stated to no one in particular as they reached the door. He pulled out his wand, and drew it in a circle as he muttered, “ _In pax, in pax, in pax…_ ” After twenty-nine recitations, Draco flicked his wand, and the door opened. The darkness of the foyer yawned vast and intimidating, and Draco hesitated, wand hand lowering, eyes widening in fear. 

“There’s no one here,” Harry soothed. “ _Homenum Revelio_ ,” He cast and felt nothing. “See? All clear. We’ll open all the windows, okay?” 

Draco took a deep breath. “Okay.” He blew out his sage, the sparks fading. “Leave it by the door,” He told Harry, and they set their bundles at the edge of the threshold. 

Malfoy Manor had grown even dustier in the months since Christmas, the must and mold making Harry wrinkle his nose. He pointed his wand rapidly at the large windows, and they all swung open, letting light stream in. All the furniture, including four couches, a few armchairs, and half a dozen ottomans - _seriously,_ Harry thought, _who needs that many ottomans?_ \- was still pushed to the walls. 

Draco took the first step into his old home, his chest rising and falling deeply. Harry placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Where do you want to start?” 

“Well…” Draco looked around the room, his gaze falling on a rectangle of wallpaper that seemed darker than the rest of it. “There’s supposed to be a painting there. It’s in the attic, probably, with some other things.” His voice grew more confident, and he walked forward, turning thoughtfully. “Some of these things can go back in the attic, though. I think we should just clean the whole place first.” 

“Split up, or…?” 

“Stay,” Draco said immediately. “Please?” 

“Of course. Hey,” Harry kissed him on the cheek. “I’m proud of you for coming in here. We’ll get it all fixed up, make it feel like home again.” 

“Right. You can start dusting everything off while I cast cleansing spells.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

The pair drifted to opposite sides of the room, Draco muttering incessantly in Latin while Harry siphoned dust off the floor with his wand, sweeping it in wide circles. He glanced at his boyfriend every so often, their eyes meeting, and Draco smiled as if to say, _“I’m okay.”_

Even a few weeks earlier, Harry hadn’t been sure if Draco could have come back here so soon. To the vast dining table where Nagini slithered across, the kitchen where Lucius had thrown glasses at Narcissa. To the bedroom that became Draco’s only safe haven during the war, where he secretly collected news about the Chosen One, hoping with all his might that he would end the terror once and for all. Draco had told Harry everything about those months, and the years before, about the childhood filled with screams and running through the garden and bubble baths and slaps and family banquets. They’d spent a week at the Weasley’s after Ron’s proposal, plenty of time for Harry to learn about Draco’s past, and love him all the more for it. 

Ron’s proposal. Harry grinned as he remembered its elegance, the thoughtfulness that he would have expected from his best mate. It had been graduation day, when the students wore robes in their House color, holding their rolled-up parchment certificates - diplomas, in Muggle terms. Ron had instructed Ginny and Luna to run ahead to the train, decorating the pathway with sprigs of clover and lilac blooms, Hermione’s favorite flower. He’d led Hermione down to the train compartment where they first met and proposed, hardly getting out the words, “Will you spend the rest of your life with me?” before she squealed, “Yes!” and threw her arms around his neck. 

“Merlin’s beard, I’m starving,” Draco sighed a few hours later, flinging himself upon a freshly cleaned, black leather sofa. “And thirsty.” 

“We’ll take a break now,” Harry told him, picking up his bag from near the door. “Come on, let’s go to the kitchen.” 

“Can’t move. Too tired.” 

“It’s cooler over there.” 

“It is?” Draco said skeptically, but he dragged himself to his feet and followed Harry from the living room. 

“Not really,” Harry confessed as he placed the bag on the smooth, white marble countertop. The sunlight from the window above the sink, overlooking the overgrown vegetable garden, bounced off the shiny surfaces. The crystal glasses sparkled within the glass-paneled, dark wood cabinets. “I just didn’t want you to get crumbs on the couch.” 

“You sound like my mother, Potter,” Draco remarked, and the atmosphere suddenly grew stiff; they had expertly skirted around talking about Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy for the past month - at least, in the present tense. Not that Harry had avoided it on purpose, but Draco hadn’t yet broached the topic, and Harry felt it wasn’t his place to bring it up. “Um…when do we see Teddy again?” 

“Early August.” Draco’s sudden change of subject wasn’t very subtle, but Harry decided not to mention it. He took out their lemonade bottles and wrapped sandwiches - cheese and tomato for Draco, roast beef for himself. “I convinced Andromeda to let him come to our place.” 

“We don’t have any furniture yet,” Draco pointed out, unscrewing a bottle cap. 

“We will,” Harry promised. “I’m guessing you don’t want to bring him here, though.” 

Draco’s gaze flitted to the living room, which was clean and filled with sunlight but still achingly empty and lifeless. “Too many hard surfaces for a child” was his excuse, and he took a bite of his sandwich to keep from talking. 

Harry decided to let silence fall as he ate his own sandwich. Molly had taken to packing lunch for all her children, quasi-adopted or no, for as many days as she could that summer. She knew they would all be gone soon, off to Cambridge, or the Ministry, or training with a nationally-ranked Quidditch team. Cooking them all food was Molly’s way of saying goodbye. 

Harry was going to miss the Weasleys. Sure, he’d make a point to Floo every holiday, but he couldn’t predict the future. Being an Auror, even in-training, would take him around the country - around the globe. Not to mention the danger involved - he could _die_ , he realized and gulped down lemonade to calm himself. It wasn’t death he was afraid of; he’d already experienced it. Harry glanced across the kitchen counter at Draco, who stared off towards the garden, silver eyes lost in a daydream. No, death didn’t scare him. He was afraid of what would happen to the people he left behind. 

Those left behind. Like George, the broken half of a whole, wearing a constant mask of a smile to hide the pain beneath. Harry had spoken to him soon after graduation, telling him about his dream, or his vision rather, of Fred visiting him beyond the grave. He’d made it clear he wasn’t sure if the dream was real or not, but George had appreciated it nevertheless and was both melancholy and glad at the news that his brother would be there for him in whatever afterlife came next. 

“Found it!” Draco cried presently; they had finished cleaning the house and were rummaging in the attic. Compared to the rest of the house, it was positively cramped, dusty, and completely disorganized. Harry had anticipated running across a few Dark objects, maybe an enchanted mirror, or worse, preserved body parts. Instead, the items deemed unworthy for the modern Malfoy household were pleasingly ordinary: a gramophone, and a stack of records - _Muggle music?_ Harry observed with shock - a box of dragon figurines that looked up curiously when the lid was removed, a clothing rack of suits, two carved rocking chairs, a crib with a glittering mobile lying inside it, a wedding dress, and curiously, a rusty saxophone. 

“What is it?” Harry called from the floor, where he was sorting through a box of photos. 

“Our family portrait.” Across the attic, Draco pointed his wand at a flat, rectangular object beneath a sheet; it was almost as tall as he was. The painting floated into the open space, and Draco guided it towards the small opening leading back to the living room. 

“How’d that fit through there?” Harry asked, following him. 

“Magic,” Draco said, raising an amused eyebrow. 

“Ah - right.” 

“ _Reducio_.” Draco flicked his wand at the painting, and it shrank to fit in his palm, along with the tissue-sized sheet. He tucked his wand in his pocket and carefully climbed down the ladder, Harry following. “ _Engorgio_ ,” Draco intoned after laying the painting on the ground, and he jumped back as it sprung to full size. “Help me pull the sheet off. _Gently_ , please,” he added as Harry grasped a corner. 

Inch by inch, they uncovered the painting. Harry’s heart skipped at how lifelike it was: each member of the Malfoy family blinked up at him from the brushstrokes, their expressions reacting to his presence. Narcissa, wearing a long, emerald-green gown, her face less lined, raised an eyebrow at Harry as if to say, _“What are you doing here?”_ Lucius, visage set in a permanent scowl, haughtily straightened his collar and glared. And between them… 

“Aww,” Harry cooed as a younger Draco, hardly ten years old, smiled cheerfully from the portrait. His silver eyes sparkled with youth, his open expression not yet lost to the hopelessness that would come later in life. Harry waved to the painted figure, who waved back, and Narcissa laid a hand on her son’s shoulder, gently telling him to stop. 

“What do you mean, ‘aww’?” Draco scoffed. 

“Look at your little suit!” Harry pointed, and the younger Draco adjusted his green tie with an air of childlike self-importance. 

“Oh, you,” Draco sighed. He waved his wand again, muttering under his breath, and the painting flew to its space in the wall. “I wonder if we can find flowers,” He said, mostly to himself, “Put them on the mantle.” 

“Let’s go look.” Harry slipped his hand into Draco’s, tugging him to the back door. “You can show me all your old hiding places.” 

The buzz of cicadas and July’s setting sun brought life to the untended garden - not that it needed it. Overgrown vines of honeysuckle and jasmine ran up the wall. Rosebushes and carpets of weeds, clover, dandelions, and daffodils sprawled across gravel paths. Magnolia and yellowing pine trees loomed at the edges, their flowers and needles perfuming the air. Farther down, a small citrus orchard grew wild. The scents reminded Harry of a few weeks prior, when he, Ron, Hermione, and Draco, had been presented with a box of fragrant teas for an afternoon with the Minister. 

A Muggle teahouse in London had proven to be the perfect location for a surreptitious, yet friendly meeting between Minister Shacklebolt and four of Hogwarts’ most famed students. Kingsley had made polite conversation with all of them, even Draco, who was surprised to be treated so civilly by the Minister himself. Kingsley congratulated them on getting into Cambridge Auror Academy and Hermione on starting her training as a Damage Control specialist that autumn. Then he told them the real reason for their meeting. 

“I thought it would behoove me to inform you four of this latest…” Kingsley’s deep, soothing voice paused as he refilled his tea. “Development. On the Following front.” 

“With all due respect, Minister,” Hermione chimed in, “Are you sure you want to be telling us? Surely this is sensitive information.” 

“You may be right, Miss Granger,” Kingsley acknowledged with a nod, “But this ‘sensitive information’ is being published in the Daily Prophet tomorrow. At least, the gist of it.” 

“I see.” 

“But I felt you two, in particular, should know.” Kingsley’s dark eyes turned to Draco and Harry. “It’s about the mask you found in Wiltshire. Unfortunately, we weren’t able to gain any information about who wore it, where exactly they came from, and where they went. There were some powerful anti-tracking charms on it, as well as some other…troubling spells.” He cleared his throat. “It’s clear that the Following, well, doesn’t want to be followed. In early May, however, it dissolved.” 

“Dissolved?” Harry echoed. “It disappeared? Exploded?” 

“Just…” Kingsley made a broad, sprinkling gesture with his hands. “Into dust. No trace of the original shape.” 

“Why?” Hermione asked. 

“I would imagine - and some of our magical investigators have speculated - that whoever created the mask, or enchanted it, or wore it, had lost power. _Died_ , most likely. The Ministry has searched far and wide in England, and beyond, for any trace of them. We’ve found nothing.” 

“That’s it, then?” Draco interjected. “That’s the end of them?” 

“For now, it seems, Mr. Malfoy. For now.” 

Back in the garden, Draco rolled up his sleeves before squatting down by the gnarled roots of an ancient oak tree, waving for Harry to join him. “Come here, Potter.” 

Uncaring of his trousers getting dirty, Harry knelt to the ground and peered into a hollow in the tree. The trunk had grown strangely at the bottom, opening into a circle, then nearly closing again, to make a tiny sort of chamber. Draco reached inside the hollow, almost shoulder-deep before his fingers closed around something, and he retracted his arm. 

Draco opened his hand, and Harry leaned in to peer at the oddity he had retrieved. A few tiny bones and a miniature skull that looked slightly human lay on top of a broken piece of china. “Fairy bones,” Draco said quietly. “I found nearly a full skeleton in third year. It’s still in good condition, see?” He tilted the plate shard slightly, and Harry gave a start as he looked straight through the skull’s eye sockets, through the hole in the base, to see the smooth porcelain beneath. “I put a Preservation Charm on it.” 

Harry tried to imagine thirteen-year-old Draco, all bluster and arrogance, gingerly handling a hollow-boned skeleton and having the foresight to magically protect it. The scene was difficult to picture. 

“Anyway,” said Draco, placing the bones back inside the hollow, “I’ll show you everything else later. For now,” he brushed off his hands on his trousers, “Flowers.” 

Despite being a tangled, briar-armored mess, the rosebushes still yielded blush-pink, fragrant blooms the size of Harry’s fist. Draco used his wand to sever the flowers from their spiny stems, but he and Harry picked ferns and daffodils by hand. They took their time walking back to the house, listening to the birdsong and insect harmonies, a concert in the fading light. When they reached the back door, Draco turned suddenly, taking in the view of the overgrown garden, silver eyes wandering as if imagining how magnificent it would look with a little work. Harry thought he had never looked more beautiful, his arms full of roses, pale skin tinged with pink in the sunset, face smudged slightly with dirt but free of worry. Draco glanced at him, and Harry realized he was staring. 

“Something on your mind?” 

Harry shook his head. “Just…you.” 

Draco tried and failed to suppress a grin. “I’d kiss you, Potter, but I don’t want to drop these.” 

“Well, hurry up, then.” 

“All right, all right, I’m going.” 

Two clear, bowl-like vases were found in the cupboards. Harry cut the stems, and Draco arranged the flowers and fronds, pink on yellow on green. They each took one and placed it on the mantle of the unlit fireplace; the colors brightened the space immediately, catching the last of the sunlight streaming through the windows, making the portrait seem less somber. 

“We should bring some back to the flat,” Draco remarked, stepping back and admiring the tableau. “I wish I knew more gardening magic. We could grow things from our own seeds.” 

“Luna knows about gardening,” Harry told him. “She’ll be over at the Burrow soon enough.” 

“Are we staying there tonight?” 

“If you want.” 

“I almost want to stay here.” Draco looked up at the chandelier, then to the painting, the sofa, the kitchen with all its gleaming surfaces. “It looks like it used to. Happier.” 

“Should we?” 

“Not for the night,” Draco decided. “Let’s explore the garden some more.” 

He took Harry’s hand, and Harry had a sudden sense of déjà vu as he watched Draco’s blond head move ahead of him, fingers laced gently but firmly as if beginning to curl around the Snitch. Yet how could it be déjà vu; he’d never been at Draco’s house with him, at least not like this, never like this. Draco’s walls had come tumbling down, and Harry could see every part of him. The child that collected rocks and bones and flowers in his mother’s garden, the jealous teen whose bruised knuckles betrayed the words he didn’t dare utter, the young man that had finally made room in his heart for another. 

“My favorite spot,” Draco proclaimed beneath a lemon tree. Some of the fruit lay smashed in the long grass, but there were plenty of round, yellow orbs hanging low in the branches, thin leaves fluttering in the breeze. The spindly trunk didn’t provide much support, so Draco flopped down on the grass in front of it, then curled up as if to sleep. 

“Draco Malfoy, sleeping outside?” Harry said incredulously as he sat next to him. 

“I’m _exhausted_ , Harry,” Draco sighed dramatically, throwing an arm across his face to shield his eyes from the sun. “I’ve never done that much menial labor in my life.” 

“I believe you.” 

Draco swatted at him, half-heartedly, then grew still, his eyes sliding closed. Harry smiled, leaning against the trunk of the lemon tree. Malfoy Manor stood at the top of the slope, so he could some of Wiltshire’s countryside, peppered with expansive roofs of expensive houses, leafy trees, and stone-walled courtyards between them. The sun had nearly touched the edge of the horizon. 

“Draco?” But the boy had already fallen asleep, and Harry watched him for a while, his lips parted, chest rising and falling with slow breath. 

Indigo spilled like ink from the top of the sky when Draco awoke. He blinked at the emerging stars. “How long was I out?” 

Harry stopped transfiguring grass blades into tiny birds and replied, “An hour or so.” 

“You could have woken me up.” 

“You seemed comfortable.” 

“Hm.” Draco lifted himself up on his arms and looked at the sliver of moon that had joined its bright daughters in the sky. “We should go home. 

_Home._ The Burrow, the Manor, Gryffindor Tower, the Cambridge flat. Wherever Draco was, that was home. Harry almost said something of the sort, though he didn’t want to sound saccharine. He figured Draco felt the same way anyway, as he helped Harry from the ground and took his hands. 

“So, we’ll just get the lunch bag and Apparate,” Draco said, turning to walk back to the house, but Harry didn’t let go. “What?” 

“I think you forgot something.” 

It took a moment, then Draco smirked. “Maybe I didn’t forget. Maybe I’m just building suspen-” 

Harry slipped a hand behind his neck and pulled him in. Their lips met with familiarity, though it wasn’t the same as the times before; their kisses were never the same. Now, there was starlight, and the cricket symphony, and the perfume of lemons and roses and Draco’s hair. Draco’s fingers threaded through his hair, and he pulled away for a split second to sigh, “ _Harry_ ,” and Harry felt a bit of his heart melt just at that, at the breathiness of his voice, and his tongue slipping between his lips. 

Harry fell in love again, and he knew he would later, that night, with a silencing charm on the door and hasty touches beneath the sheets. And again, when they took their first steps into the Academy, and later, when they exchanged polite embraces in the corridor, and again when they buttoned each other’s uniforms for whatever deadly mission lay ahead. And later, and again, and again, and again… 

An eternity with Draco Malfoy. The one thing Harry never knew he wanted, but now had. He would never stop being grateful for it, not until death took him in its gentle clutches for the second and final time. 

• • •

_2 months earlier_

Three figures stood in the center of a forest clearing. Each was dressed in robes the color of fresh blood, but only two donned masks as they stood over the other. Above their heads, shadowy silhouettes swarmed impatiently, kept at bay by a silvery tiger, its fangs bared at the darkening sky. 

An old woman knelt wearily, hands bound by heavy, enchanted chains. Her head was bowed, but the sound of her pained groans and shallow breaths was loud enough for the other two to notice. 

The shorter, rabbit-masked, shifted uncomfortably, hands clasped at their waist in a position of submission. When they spoke, their voice was soft, every syllable enunciated, every tone pronounced. “Dao. It’s time.” 

The younger woman, face hidden by a tiger-shaped visage, jerked her head in recognition. “Just a moment,” She said in Thai, “I want to speak to her.” Dao walked closer, footsteps hushed on the dirt. A sun-darkened hand emerged from the red fabric, grabbing the older woman’s chin and forcing her face upward. The prisoner gasped at her touch, but unwillingly met her gaze - her eyes were bloodshot, streaming with tears. 

“Please…” The woman begged, and her voice was the voice of many, each soul inside her speaking over the others. “ _H̄yud_. Stop this. It’s not too late.” 

“Oh, but it _is_ too late,” Dao simpered, her voice harsh. “Too late for you, at least. Too late for Dahlia.” She glanced at her Patronus, its tail swishing agitatedly. “Shame she couldn’t be here to share this moment with me, eh, Rabbit?” 

Rabbit inclined their head. “You don’t have much time, Dao.” 

“You’re right.” Dao looked up at the dozens of dementors, swarming and hungry. They smelled blood, and residual fear, leftover from the cowering witches and wizards that had been slaughtered by the righteous army. Those who died tonight deserved every bit of suffering. Dao truly believed that. 

Dao pulled back her robe sleeves. She held no wand, but her very fingertips crackled with power as they held the older woman’s face. The Patronus shimmered, the tiger snarling as if it was about to disappear. “Well, Kayala? Any last words from you, and you alone?” 

For a moment, Kayala’s violet, fractured eyes flickered, reverting back to a dark brown. “This won’t work. You’ll kill yourself.” Her voice was her own, warm with grandmotherly concern. 

Beneath the mask, Dao’s lip curled. “We’ll see about that.” The old woman dropped her head, hearing the conviction in her voice, knowing that there was nothing she could do to stop her. “It doesn’t matter how long this takes me. My rule _will_ prevail. As long as I have the boy.” She turned to Rabbit.

“He’s coming,” They confirmed. “I’m sure of it.” 

“You see?” Dao chuckled triumphantly. “It’s only a matter of time.” She knelt, undamaged eyes meeting Kayala’s defeated ones. “The only ones who deserve power are those desperate enough to seize it,” She declared, picking up the cracked, serpent-carved mask from the ground. “You weren’t desperate enough, Kayala. You’ve become complacent.” Dao made a squeezing motion with her empty hand, and the mask dissolved into dust. “And now you’re paying the price.” 

The witch stood, red robes and dark hair flowing with the beginnings of magic. “ _S̄wạs̄dī_ , Kayala. Farewell.” She raised her arms, and the Patronus disappeared. The dementors plunged, the sound of their tortured breathing almost drowning out the anguished screams. 

Rabbit resisted the urge to dive to the ground and cover their head as the ritual was performed. Their fists clenched as they watched Kayala’s souls separate from her body, watched Dao harness the dementor’s power to steal the spirits and magic from her old mentor’s body. Rabbit closed their eyes and shut out Dao’s wails - she knew it would be painful, Rabbit told themselves, she knew the risks. Yet something seemed terribly, terribly wrong. 

It was only in the silence, the aftermath, when Rabbit cast their own Patronus, and it hopped forward. The silver light illuminated a path to the two unmoving bodies, lying prone in the dirt. Rabbit stopped in their tracks - for a moment, they wondered. What would happen if they left, pretend all this never happened? 

But loyalty and desperation pushed them forward, and Rabbit knelt by her mistress’s side, hoping with all their might that she would wake. 


	52. Author's Note

“This is how you do it: You sit down at a keyboard and you put one word after another until its done. It’s that easy, and that hard.” - Neil Gaiman

• • •

(c. November 2020)

Writing this fanfiction, during such a turmoil-filled year, has been an intense emotional journey. I began in November of 2019, before COVID-19, before J.K. Rowling’s transphobia controversy, before the issue of police brutality took center stage in my country, before same-sex marriage and abortion rights were threatened by the appointment of Justice Amy Coney Barrett. Since the beginning of this fic, I have undergone great change as a writer and person, just as the world has.

_When the Smoke Clears_ began as a half-assed diversion for myself, and myself only, when my ex-boyfriend and I were going through some post-breakup drama. I’ve always turned to writing in times of loneliness, self-doubt, and shame. At that time in my life, I needed a story that reflected my own thoughts of uncertainty and yearning for peace. And most of all, I needed a story that made me believe in love again.

Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter have both been my comfort characters for years now, so exploring them in depth has been a source of joy for me. I picked apart Draco’s guilt and insecurities, explored the extent of Harry’s compassion and tendency to temper, and had a lot of fun doing it. I won’t lie; it’s a hell of a lot easier using characters that I didn’t create originally - I didn’t have to try terribly hard to flesh them out, which left me more room to describe their relationship and the world around them.

I asked you all to send me questions about the fanfiction, and I got a few (thank you!), so I’ll answer them now. **How has it been writing a full-length novel? Does it inspire you to write more?** and **Do you think you will continue writing after this?** Short answer: yes, I will definitely be writing more after WTSC! Writing a novel-length fic has challenged me to actually plan out my work instead of just writing off the top of my head like I usually do. Believe it or not, I’ve gained some new skills from writing this, which I will be sure to use in my next works, whether it be more fanfictions or original stories. Right now, I’m haphazardly working on a five-part science fiction novel, a short horror story, another Drarry fanfiction separate from WTSC, and my usual series of erotica published here on Ao3. Which brings me to my next question…

**Any smut coming soon?** Yes and no. I’ve been neglecting my _Blood, Sweat & Sex _series in favor of finishing up WTSC, so I don’t have anything ready to release. I have a few ideas lined up, some original, some requested, that you can look over in the _Introduction_ part of the series. The next oneshot will be available, I hope, within the next week or so. If you were asking about smut in this particular series, I’m going to say no. I don’t mind sexual scenes, but when they get too graphic, it tends to ruin the more serious tone of the story that I’m going for.

**How many of these WTSC stories have you planned? Are you planning one or more?** _When the Smoke Clears_ , is in fact, part of a series. Currently the series is named _Always By Your Side_ , but I’m most likely changing that to something else very soon. There will definitely be a sequel, titled _Between Here and the Stars._ Beyond that, I doubt I’ll be writing anything full-length, but oneshots set in the same universe are definitely a possibility.

By the way (and this is me adding this paragraph after I wrote the rest of it because I almost forgot), I have a document floating around with deleted scenes from WTSC, including more Herbology shenanigans, cuddly Drarry moments, and dramatic conflict. If you’d like the document, message me on Discord (Mihane#8688) and I’ll send it right over.

The sequel will probably start to be published around Christmas. Until then, I’ll take a short break to finish another Drarry fanfiction that I started on a whim in late summer. It’s based heavily off a Charlie Kaufman film, so the story isn’t exactly original, but I’ve had a rollicking good time putting it on paper nevertheless. I hope you’ll enjoy that one as well :)

• • •

I have many people to thank that helped me, some unknowingly, during the course of writing _When the Smoke Clears._

Thank you to my wonderful friends from creative writing class who proofread and got me through writing blocks when I needed it. We’re all very busy taking the IB, so I appreciate you taking the time out of your day to help me out!

Thank you to my 9th grade English and creative writing teacher, who taught me how to write critically, and how to properly write poetry. Thank you to my 10th grade creative writing teacher, who taught me how to actually plan a story, and make it seem like I knew what I was doing all along.

Thank you to God, whom many are surprised I even believe in, who gave me the talent for writing at a very young age.

Lastly, and certainly not least, a colossal thank you to my readers. From the very beginning, your supportive comments kept me going. Seeing that my writing made someone cry, or enormously happy, never failed to make my day one hundred percent better. I consider it a pleasure and an honor to write for the Harry Potter fandom, who has been there for me since the moment I discovered you all on the Internet. I look forward to continuing to write the series, and I hope you can welcome my upcoming original character as warmly as you have accepted my version of Draco and Harry.

Farewell for now.

~ M

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this story started in 6th grade when I read this amazing Drarry fanfiction on Quotev that depicted Harry and Draco entering a relationship after the Battle of Hogwarts. Inspired, I started writing Drarry fanfiction, but only until now have I come up with a cohesive and interesting story, complete with side characters, LGBT representation, minority representation, and a new and exciting antagonist. Please enjoy When the Smoke Clears, a Drarry fanfiction (c. 2019).


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